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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27373327">The Way To A Man's Heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LicieOIC/pseuds/LicieOIC'>LicieOIC</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Musical Theatre AU's [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - You've Got Mail Fusion, Bakery Shop Owner Dean Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bisexual Disaster Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Inspired by She Loves Me (Musical), Inspired by The Shop Around The Corner, M/M, Masturbation, Pen Pals, Porn with Feelings, Religious Conflict, Slow Burn, Strong Language, Suptober (Supernatural), Suptober 2020 (Supernatural), Two Person Love Triangle, cursing, rival bakeries, shameless flirting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:35:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>50,359</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27373327</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LicieOIC/pseuds/LicieOIC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a fictional version of Lebanon, KS - Dean owns The Piehole which he runs with his brother, Sam. Castiel works at a rival bakery, Your Daily Bread. They meet anonymously over the internet. Sparks fly.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Musical Theatre AU's [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/103337</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>474</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>493</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Mixtape Book Club Podcast - Discussed Fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by Love Virtually and Parfumerie aka The Shop Around The Corner aka In The Good Old Summertime aka She Loves Me aka You've Got Mail. Some scenes are directly inspired by scenes from all of these, so you may recognize a line here and there.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Pieman79: Bakers of Lebanon, KS -</p>
  <p>Hi. How are you?</p>
  <p>How the FUCK does anyone get bread to rise? I see these pictures of big mixing bowls FILLED TO THE BRIM with risen dough and I’m convinced they are Photoshopped. Every DAMN time I go to lift the cloth from my dough, having waited hours to do so, having so carefully combined the proper ingredients with the expectation of getting a big beautiful puffball of dough, heart in my throat I go to look and – I get a rock. I’m Charlie FUCKING Brown on Halloween.</p>
</blockquote><p>Tossing his phone down on the counter, Dean put his head in his hands, raking his fingers back into his short light brown hair and pulling on it in frustration, uncaring that he was probably leaving streaks of flour behind. He was desperate. He’d just thrown his third failed attempt at a simple cottage loaf in the trash and he was at a loss. He’d measured the ingredients twice to make sure they were right and still – his bread would not rise. Wasting so much flour didn’t sit well with him, but the results were completely inedible. He didn’t want to give up. What could possibly be wrong?</p>
<p>He wasn’t used to failure. The Piehole, his shop, was the most successful pie-oriented bakery in Lebanon – a feat when the town was kind of a baking hub in its own right. He had invented all kinds of unique pies, his crust was always top-notch, but when it came to bread… he just didn’t have the skills and it irked him. Enough that he’d actually taken his brother’s advice and asked for help online. It was maybe a bit aggressive for his first and only post to the Lebanon Bakers Dozen forums, but it definitely felt cathartic to air his grievances.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to say it’s you if you’re worried about losing face with the other bakers in town,” said Sam, looking up from watching ingredients spin in a stand mixer. The hairnet covering his long russet locks looked ridiculous as always, but Dean insisted on it as long as Sam continued to keep his hair chin-length… and because it made him laugh. “That’s what user names are for.”</p>
<p>“Of course I’m worried about losing face,” said Dean, irritably. “You know what dad said – Reputation—”</p>
<p>“—is everything,” finished Sam, rolling his hazel eyes. They’d both heard that phrase enough times, it had almost lost all meaning.</p>
<p>“One bad review is all it takes to dry up your business. You remember what happened to the Victorian Tea Room across town.” He checked the boxes of produce Sam had brought in earlier. “Where are the white strawberries?”</p>
<p>Sam sighed in frustration. “That asshat from Daily Bread swept the Farmer’s Market before I got there.”</p>
<p>Dean whipped around. “I told you to be there, first thing!”</p>
<p>“I was!” cried Sam, holding up his hands.</p>
<p>“Well, obviously not, if those judgmental asses got my white strawberries! What the hell! They aren’t even a pie place!”</p>
<p>Of all the bakeries to snipe his produce, it was Your Daily Bread that Dean hated the most. It was one of those places that printed Bible verses all over their paper goods and blared religious music out into the street, and it wasn’t even the half-good rock and roll kind, it was the sappy gospel kind that all sounded the same. He supposed a bakery like that has its place, communion crackers had to come from somewhere, right? But something about it rubbed Dean the wrong way. It struck him as the type of place that would refuse to make a cake for a same-sex couple’s wedding.</p>
<p>He grumbled as he climbed the ladder to change the blackboard that listed all of their pies. “What do they need white strawberries for - they can use the red ones! I swear, they just do this to fuck with me…” He muttered a few more uncharitable phrases as he crossed ‘White Dream Pie’ off the list for the day. “Try again tomorrow. Steamroll them if you have to!”</p>
<p>“And get a scratch on your Baby?”</p>
<p>Dean hesitated at the mention of his beloved black Chevy Impala. “Do that and you’ll never drive her again. Just be there. You <em>have</em> to get first pick, especially for the limited stuff. Shop for your rabbit food <em>after</em>!”</p>
<p>“Okay, sure.” He gestured at the mess of flour all over the kitchen island. “Why do you suddenly care about bread anyway?”</p>
<p>“It’s like a stock portfolio. Diversifying is smart. If we <em>have</em> more product, we should <em>sell</em> more product. Only offering one thing is limiting our customers.”</p>
<p>“I hardly think thirty-five different sweet pies and fifteen different savory pies is <em>limiting</em>.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but everybody eats bread.”</p>
<p>“Not if they’re on the Atkins diet.”</p>
<p>“The whatkins diet?”</p>
<p>“Never mind.”</p>
<p>“Nobody who comes here is on a diet.”</p>
<p>Sam shook his head and went back to mixing. “Whatever, man. I think you should stick with what you know. Pie is what you’re good at.”</p>
<p>Before Dean could retort that he was good at a lot of things, his phone buzzed. There was already a response to his… colorful post.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>AngelCakes:</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>How do you prepare your yeast?</p>
  <p>Regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean snorted. Who leaves a comment on a forum like that? He tapped out a quick reply.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Pieman79: Prepare yeast? It comes in a packet. I put it in when the recipe says to put it in.</p>
</blockquote><p>It wasn’t long before another response came.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>AngelCakes:</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>That is one way to do it, yes, but it doesn’t often result in successfully risen dough.</p>
  <p>Regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Pieman79: Do you open and close every comment this way?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>AngelCakes:</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I don’t speak to many people on the internet. My intent is to avoid being rude. This way, everyone knows to whom I am speaking.</p>
  <p>Regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Pieman79: It’s fine if you’re writing a formal letter with ink and quill. Are you also wearing a bonnet? Has Netherfield been let at last?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>AngelCakes:</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I do not understand this reference. And I do not wear bonnets, as a man, I would look silly.</p>
  <p>Regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Pieman79: Ah, a fellow dude. Good to meet ya. I was referring to Pride and Prejudice. Every lady I’ve ever talked to has either read the book or seen a movie of it, but… you’re apparently not a lady, sorry for assuming. I think anyone would look silly in a bonnet nowadays, male or female, but people should be able to wear what makes them happy – bonnets, boots, underwear, whatever. You do you. I don’t judge. Mens clothes are so boring.</p>
  <p>Anyway. I’m off-topic, and I think the admins probably frown on that, I was talking about bread…</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>AngelCakes:</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>Yes, your rock-like bread. Yeast is a living organism, not just a mere ingredient. What you want to do is put the yeast in a cup of warm water with a spoonful of honey and cover it with a cloth. The water should be barely warm – too hot or too cold will kill the yeast. The honey will feed it so it foams, the cloth ensures the gases remain trapped. If you check your yeast after five minutes or so and there isn’t any foam, then your yeast didn’t activate and you should try again with a fresh cup. This should at least save you from wasting your flour and other ingredients on dead yeast that will never rise.</p>
  <p>If you require further assistance, feel free to message me directly. You could talk about whatever you like without the administrators becoming upset. I find your views on clothing refreshing and your taste in books unique.</p>
  <p>Regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>By this time, Dean and Sam had finished prep for the following day and it was time for their usual nightcap (beer o’clock) before they went to bed.</p>
<p>“You’re smiling,” said Sam, handing his brother an uncapped bottle.</p>
<p>“I am? Huh.” He held up his phone. “Nice guy gave me a tip about yeast. I’m feeling optimistic.”</p>
<p>“What was that?” asked Sam, touching a hand to his ear. “I was… <em>right</em> about something?”</p>
<p>“Shut up.”</p>
<p>“Jerk.”</p>
<p>“Bitch.”</p>
<p>They clinked bottles, the routine comfortable and familiar. Dean decided he would send ‘AC’ a private message when he had time the next day. Hopefully, he would have good news to report.</p>
<p>---</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>To: AngelCakes@bakersdozen.com</p>
  <p>From: Pieman79@bakersdozen.com</p>
  <p>Re: Bread</p>
  <p>Dear AC, (Look, you’ve got me doing it!)</p>
  <p>To be honest, I never read the book. I once had a girlfriend who loved the movie and we watched it together. I don’t know if I would enjoy reading it, if I even had time to read anymore. This is the most reading I’ve done in years.</p>
  <p>Is your yeast tip universal for all flours? You seem to know a lot about bread.</p>
</blockquote><p>By the following morning, there was a new private response, Dean read it while still lying in bed.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>To: Pieman79@bakersdozen.com</p>
  <p>From: AngelCakes@bakersdozen.com</p>
  <p>Re: Bread</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I bake a lot of bread. My suggestion for yeast is universal for activating it, but not all flours rise alike. Nut flours are much heavier than wheat flour and will usually require more than one leavening agent. Are you trying to bake gluten free?</p>
  <p>Are you thinking you wouldn’t enjoy reading Pride and Prejudice because of the subject matter or because it would remind you of your ex-girlfriend?</p>
  <p>Regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>It was a good question and one Dean thought about while attempting a new loaf of bread, this time with ‘activated’ yeast. He hadn’t thought about his ex in years and hadn’t had anything serious since either. It had been a decent relationship, but she’d ultimately left for someone who could spend more time with her. That was always the hang up. The Piehole was a very demanding mistress. Though Dean was the boss, he hadn’t taken an official day off in a very long time, instead he worked constantly and when he wasn’t working, he was visiting Farmer’s Markets and inventing new pies. He wasn’t sure how Sam managed to be his assistant, his accountant, and find time for a social life as well.</p>
<p>He checked the resting ball of dough – and sighed.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Pride and Prejudice and Bread</p>
  <p>Dear AC, (Are we still doing this? We’re in a private message now.)</p>
  <p>To use a baker’s phrase – six of one, half dozen of the other. But I really only remember the first bit of the movie. I was… busy after that. Heh. So I could be wrong about the subject matter. It’s about ladies getting married in the days of yore, I think. Now, Tombstone, there’s a movie I wouldn’t want to makeout through. I must have seen it ten times and I still love it. Highly recommend if you haven’t seen it.</p>
  <p>I don’t make a lot of bread (because I suck at it), so I was wondering just in case I decided to try nut flour. It was something my brother said about a special diet (he’s really into rabbit food) but I need to get better at regular bread first. I tried activating my yeast today – it worked! Foamed right up. But the dough still only rose a little bit. No idea what I did wrong.</p>
  <p>Hey, I’m curious. What made you take the user name Angel Cakes if you bake bread?</p>
</blockquote><p>His answer came later that night -</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Pride and Prejudice and Bread</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I will have to make an attempt to see the films at some point, but I could see how watching it with a paramour might be distracting. They would most likely be far more interesting.</p>
  <p>I don’t only make bread, just mostly bread. What I really love to do is decorate cakes. The website said I shouldn’t use my real name and when I was little my mother used to say “What did you make, Angel Cakes?” any time I was in the kitchen. It’s a happy memory, that’s why I chose it. Why did you choose Pieman?</p>
  <p>Tell me about your kneading technique. How long do you knead?</p>
  <p>Regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>AC’s comment about his mother gave Dean a pang in his heart. Looking across the kitchen, he stared at a framed photo of his mother and father hanging on the wall. She was holding baby Sammy in her arms, beside them was a tiny Dean, not yet five years old. Maybe Sam was lucky he couldn’t remember her. He didn’t have the pain of knowing, like Dean. Even though the memories were hazy from so long ago, they still brought hurt whenever he had cause to think of them.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Simple Simon</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>I was curious about Angel Cakes because it didn’t strike me as something a man would choose, it’s probably another reason why I thought you were female at first. That’s real sweet, though, man. I kinda picked my user name for a similar reason. My mom passed away when I was young, so I don’t remember any pet names besides generic things like sweetie or baby, but she used to read us books to put us to sleep, me and my little brother. (Well, not so little now.) Do you remember the nursery rhyme about Simple Simon? He met a pieman going to the fair. I make pies, so I thought it fit.</p>
  <p>Bread is a lot harder than I thought. You’d think because I’m really good in one area of baking, other types of baking would come easy. I never had this much trouble with cookies or when I had an occasion to try cake. I do make at least one cake a year for my brother’s birthday. I think he asks me for one rather than order from another bakery because he enjoys torturing me. And because of my ego I can’t say no.</p>
  <p>Does weather effect the result of bread at all, like elevation? I know my body tends to freak out whenever we transition into Fall like we are now and I end up with sniffles for a week or so – does bread freak out when it gets colder? And I’m never sure how long I’m supposed to knead. Five minutes? Ten? An hour?</p>
</blockquote><p>Maybe it was because AC had shared something so personal that Dean felt alright sharing about his mother’s death. He’d been easy to talk to from the beginning, despite his somewhat stilted speech patterns. Dean went to bed that night hoping he hadn’t overshared. They were still strangers, after all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning, Dean found out he needn’t have worried about giving too much information as he read the new reply before getting out of bed. AC was a sympathetic sort.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Simple Simon</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I’m so sorry to hear about your mother. Mine is still living, though I haven’t seen her since the divorce. I miss her very much, as I’m sure you do yours, though much more. It makes me want to go see her, since I have the ability. I remember her with each cake I bake since she taught me the basics of decorating back when. While my other little siblings had Play-Doh, she and I would work with modeling chocolate. She would praise me no matter how terrible my icing roses were right before she would teach me how to improve. Perhaps that’s why my father discourages cake and keeps me busy with bread, it must remind him as well.</p>
  <p>Weather does have a bit of an effect on bread dough. It’s better to keep it in an area without drafts. Kneading is what builds up the threads of gluten that will hold your bread together. You want to do it until it stops being sticky and forms a neat little ball, then let it rise a second time.</p>
  <p>May I ask you a question about pies?</p>
  <p>Regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean sat straight up, eagerly tapping out a response right away. AC had been so helpful, Dean jumped at the chance to share something about his realm of the baking world.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Pies</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>Finally, something I can help with! Hit me up, dude, pies are my jam. Not a big cake eater, I must admit, but who knows? Maybe your cakes are so good, they’d convert me. (Not likely.)</p>
  <p>How long do I let the dough rise?</p>
  <p>Does your dad not let you visit your mom? That’s messed up.</p>
</blockquote><p>Later that day, Dean’s phone buzzed but The Piehole was busy. He had to wait for hours until they closed and he was practically vibrating himself when he was finally able to read what AC had written.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Pies</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>Does it matter if the pie is not a jam-based pie? My question has to do with cream-based and savory pies as well as fruit-based. What is it about cake you do not like?</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean covered his face with one hand briefly. He hadn’t meant only jam pies, but there was something kind of charming about him misunderstanding the expression.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>What we do at the bakery is let the dough rise very slowly overnight in the refrigerator, I recommend that if you have the luxury of waiting. If prepared properly, the cold shouldn’t stop the yeast from creating the gas necessary for the rise.</p>
  <p>I suppose I could visit my mother if I had more time, but I am kept very busy and she doesn’t live nearby anymore. With what little time I do have, I look forward to answering your messages. I always hated attempting to make sense of a Smart Phone, I grew up in an era where they connected to a wall, but I find myself anticipating when it will buzz in my pocket and give me an excuse to go look at what you’ve written. ‘What will Pieman have to say?’ I wonder, like we’re the oldest and dearest of friends. These brief exchanges always make me smile.</p>
  <p>Regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean couldn’t help but be intrigued by this man who was such a mystery. One minute he was sure AC was this elderly little baker who was technologically challenged and needed help understanding emojis, the next he seemed so innocently naïve that he could have been younger than Dean was.</p>
<p>Once he and Sam were through with prep for the next day, Dean started tapping out a reply -</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Pies… and more</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>Dude, that’s not what I … Never mind. Yes, you can ask me questions about any kind of pie. Jam-based or otherwise.</p>
</blockquote><p>“What is it?” asked Sam as he brought over their beer for the night. “You’ve been looking at your phone obsessively all day.”</p>
<p>“It’s nothing, just…” He trailed off, sticking his phone back in his shirt pocket to finish replying later. How was he supposed to explain this to his brother? “I’m, uh, still talking to that guy on the forums about bread. Well, actually, we’re talking about pie now.”</p>
<p>“Dude, that was days ago, a week? And you’re still talking?”</p>
<p>“Sure. Why not?”</p>
<p>Sam shook his head. “I just can’t remember the last time you said more than ‘what can I get you?’ and ‘thanks for coming in’ to someone.”</p>
<p>“Then your memory sucks. I talked to the garbage man the other day.”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t count, you know what I mean.”</p>
<p>“No, I don’t think I do.”</p>
<p>“Man, you’re dense. You like this guy.”</p>
<p>Dean blinked. Not because it wasn’t true, but because Sam was right. Again. He <em>did</em> like AC. Damn, that was annoying. He took a swig of his beer and didn’t look at his brother. “Can you ‘like’ someone you’ve never met? I don’t even know his name.”</p>
<p>“Does that matter?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know! It’s just…”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Dean fiddled with his beer bottle, uncomfortably. “It’s getting… confusing.” He paused, then bit the bullet. “I talked about mom.”</p>
<p>“<em>Dude</em>.”</p>
<p>“Don’t.”</p>
<p>“Okay, okay…” He knew better than to comment on that. Talking about their mother in an email was one thing, out loud was another. But of course, Sam wouldn’t be quiet for long. “What <em>do</em> you know about him?”</p>
<p>He thought about the little snippets of personal information AC had shared. “He works in a bakery, too, making bread, but he likes cake.”</p>
<p>“A cake man, eh?” Sam’s hazel eyes were alight with mischief. “I thought you could <em>never</em> love someone who liked cake.”</p>
<p>Dean got to his feet. “Shut up, Sam, alright? I’m not doing this with you!” <em>This</em> being, talking about his love life. Though, he didn’t know what would be worse… Sam making fun of him or Sam taking it seriously.</p>
<p>He picked up a second beer on the way upstairs to his room. Living above the bakery was convenient, even if it led to Dean inventing new pies in his underwear and bathrobe at three in the morning when he couldn’t sleep.</p>
<p>Opening his phone, he drank while he continued to compose the message.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>My opinion on cake is ‘weird’ according to my cake-loving brother. Because pie is sweet, but for me, cakes are TOO sweet. You are mostly tasting the frosting which is just pure sugar. I want to taste more flavor! I think pies are way more versatile (like me, LOL).</p>
  <p>This whole time I thought you were some kind of professor. I had this hazy image of a short, bald man in glasses. Though I guess you could still be that. I think you may be a little older than me – when I was growing up cordless phones were the new thing, but I remember my grandparents having an old rotary phone for a little while.</p>
</blockquote><p>He read over the message. He’d answered all of AC’s questions, but he couldn’t bring himself to send it off just yet. He kept looking at the last paragraph his friend had written. It was nice, that Dean ‘always made him smile,’ he liked that. There was nothing wrong with being pleased about making someone happy. There wasn’t anything more to it than that.</p>
<p>Indecisive, he snuck downstairs, listened at Sam’s door for a minute to check for snores, then sat down at the kitchen island with a third beer. After rereading the whole thing and feeling a little warm and fuzzy around the edges, he started typing again.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>So, you work in a bakery too. I’m not telling you which one I work at, in case you stop giving all your bread-making secrets to your competition! But seriously, it would really bum me out if we stopped writing for professional rivalry’s sake. I look forward to hearing from you, too. It’s strange, we’ve only been writing for a little while, but hell… I feel like we ARE friends, like you said. I told you about my mom, okay? So you don’t have to stop at pie. You can ask me anything about anything. That’s why we moved this conversation from the forums in the first place.</p>
  <p>That being said, this is getting complicated because we keep talking about several things at once. But you know something? I don’t mind it. It’s late right now and I’ve finished prep for tomorrow so I’ve had a few, which means I might be a little more chatty than usual, but there’s something weirdly compelling about these emails. Maybe it’s because we know so little about each other. We met on a local forum, so I know we live in the same town and we share a profession, but I don’t even know your name, so you make me curious and I can’t wait to read what you say next. Is it the same for you? When we first started talking, you said you didn’t often speak to people on the internet. What made you start talking to me?</p>
</blockquote><p>Hoping that AC might still be awake and would send a new message, Dean fell asleep without charging his phone that night and had to wait until after lunch the next day to see what AC had written.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Pies… and more</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I am not certain what compelled me to make my first ever response on the forums I have haunted for so long. Perhaps I identified with your intense frustration. I knew I could help. I could save your bread. And… if I’m being totally honest… perhaps I was lonely.</p>
  <p>I am not a professor, just a humble baker. Perhaps more fascinated by a fellow baker than I should be. Although I may not be short or bald or wear glasses or tweed, I believe I am smart enough to keep up with our multiple conversation threads if you are. What do you mean by versatile?</p>
  <p>It’s true, my father might not be too happy with me sharing industry secrets with our ‘competition,’ but if you return the favor by answering my question, then we’ll be even. A fair trade? Here it is – What is the secret to good pie? Ours don’t sell well.</p>
  <p>When was the last time you ate cake? Where was it from? Because it sounds like you’re describing the cheapest, most generic cake you can get from a Gas N Sip. The kind you see sweating in those plastic boxes, just a thin slab of cake and a thick slab of plain frosting, in either chocolate or vanilla and maybe a few rainbow sprinkles. I can assure you, my cakes are far superior, though I find it unlikely we’ll ever meet in person for you to verify this.</p>
  <p>Best regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>“Oh, yes, <em>so</em> humble,” Dean murmured to his phone, grinning despite his embarrassment over exactly how free he’d been with his words the previous night. Still… AC didn’t seem to mind. ‘More fascinated that he should be,’ is what he said. That shouldn’t be so exciting. “Play it cool,” he told himself, “it’s no big deal.”</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Good pie</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>You know, I think the last cake I tried WAS from a Gas N Sip. Maybe that’s the problem. I was traumatized. I have Post Traumatic Cake Disorder.</p>
  <p>I couldn’t really tell you what’s wrong with your pie without tasting it, but I can tell you that the secret to good pie is in the crust. Filling is pretty easy, but crust is key. It should be flaky and made with real butter and just melt in your mouth. Crust should be sexy like that.</p>
  <p>Oh man, I was definitely tipsy last night if I referred to myself as ‘versatile.’ I’m a flirty drunk. Okay, how should I put this now that I’m sober… Versatile, meaning… I don’t really care what someone’s got in their pants so much as what’s in their head. I can go either way. Play for both teams. I’m sure you get my drift.</p>
  <p>That was probably too much information. I hope you’re not offended. This can be a touchy subject for some. I should probably avoid drunk-emailing, but I couldn’t resist when I saw another message from you in my inbox. It’s like it was calling me to answer it right away!</p>
</blockquote><p>That was… too much. ‘Pull it back, dude,’ he thought.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>You – let me guess – have been married since leaving high school and have six kids. You’re tall and blond and starting to get pudgy around the middle. Am I right?</p>
</blockquote><p>Yeah, Dean was <em>definitely</em> not attracted to this man he’d never met. Blame it on the alcohol and then throw him off with a remark about being married and pudgy, that’ll do the trick. He had to stop getting attached to this guy. They didn’t even know each other, not really.</p>
<p>He threw his phone into his room, letting it land on the bed, and he shut the door, resolved that he wouldn’t look again until after work.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: About me</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>Our pie crust definitely is not ‘sexy,’ as you put it. I find it rather tough and close-textured, more like a cracker. Which is probably why they don’t sell. I take them to a food bank once they’re a day old, but I feel sorry for the poor souls who are given them to eat.</p>
  <p>I suppose I could be called tall, depending on whom I was standing next to. I think I’m perfectly average. Your other guesses about me have not been very close, so I’ve decided to tell you a little about myself.</p>
  <p>I’ve never been married. I have no children. I grew up with many brothers and sisters, so I guess I never felt the need to create babies of my own. And all of us were trained in baking from a young age with the idea of taking over the family business at some point. Our shopfront goes back decades, it’s a Lebanon institution, or at least that’s what my father says. Did you know that the ‘Bakers Dozen’ this website is named after is referring to the thirteen original bakeries scattered across Lebanon, Kansas? Some have closed down and others have sprung up, but ours was one of the first thirteen.</p>
  <p>One day, a brother of mine rebelled against the family. Just up and left, without a word. We might have carried on after that, one fallen apple rolling far from the tree doesn’t do much harm, but another brother followed suit soon after. He at least stayed in Lebanon, he just wanted something different for his life, he didn’t want to follow the set path given to the rest of us. He wanted the freedom to choose his profession… and who he wanted to love.</p>
  <p>It shocked the whole family and started a downward spiral for my parents. Our mother supported him. Our father just wanted him to do as he was told, the way he wanted all of us to be. I think he was afraid that more of us would leave the fold and if enough of us did that, then the shop would have to close. It caused a massive argument. Mother said we could just hire on workers, father said this was a family business and he wouldn’t run it any other way. Eventually, mother couldn’t stand it anymore and she left and I think that was the final straw for father. What is the phrase… He keeps our ship very tight. Maybe he thinks if he keeps us all busy, we won’t have time to think about leaving.</p>
  <p>I’d never considered doing anything else but baking endless loaves of bread. Until recently.</p>
  <p>Best regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean felt like shit when he looked at his messages that night. He should have kept his phone with him. What kind of ‘friend’ was he? To go running scared just because the conversation got a little personal. He took a deep breath – first things first.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: About me</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>First - Tough crust means you’re overworking it. I’m guessing you’re treating it like bread dough and kneading it. You want to mix pie crust until it just comes together, that’s what makes it flaky. The other secret is to use very cold butter. Bread dough you keep warm, pie crust you keep cold.</p>
  <p>Now – hoping I don’t sound like too much of an ass here… It kinda sounds like you grew up in one of those religious cults where you have twenty kids and you all wear the same kind of uniform. You know, ankle-length skirts for the girls, button-downs and ties for the boys? Like I said at the beginning, I don’t judge… but it doesn’t seem like it makes you very happy. And if your brother had to leave your family because he’s gay, then he’s probably better off. Sometimes the family you choose for yourself is better than the one you were given. Since you haven’t paid your mom a visit, I’m guessing you haven’t seen him either and I think the reason for that is you don’t want to risk your dad’s disapproval. I get it. My dad wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type. I never bothered ‘coming out’ to him, it never seemed important. But your brother probably misses you. I would miss my brother.</p>
  <p>Also, despite my opinion on how you were raised… One of the original thirteen bakeries? That’s pretty impressive! And narrows down where you work, which makes me even more curious. I wonder if I’ve ever been there, if you might have talked to me at the counter and we didn’t even know it. Or if you’ve been into my place ever. You could be the next guy who walks in. I’d never know. For some reason, I don’t like that – treating you like just anybody and then you walk out of my life.</p>
  <p>These details have told me so much and yet I still know so little. I find myself searching each line for more clues. I’m resisting the urge to go visit the original Bakers Dozen one by one to see if I could suss you out from looks alone. Do you have any guesses about me? You’ve never asked what I look like. Feel free to be as harsh as you like. I could be short and bald, etc. (I’m not.)</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Another question</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>Your description is not too far off. My sisters are permitted to wear pants. I still see my errant brother from time to time, though not often enough. He still lives nearby, which makes it more convenient than the journey I would need to make to see my mother. Speaking of…</p>
  <p>Do you think we should meet?</p>
  <p>Best regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>Meet? Suddenly, he was reminded of the times he’d either drunkenly or impulsively given out his number to someone he’d met at a gay bar. When they eventually called, it was like a punch to the gut. AC’s suggestion made him feel the exact same way. It was getting to be too real. He liked the fantasy, keeping him at a distance was safe – there were very few expectations this way. Meeting up would solidify AC into a person rather than a concept… and then what? What did he want from Dean? Friendship? He had that. So… more? He didn’t know, he had no idea what AC hoped to gain. Chilled to his core, Dean turned off his phone. The offer was everything he did and didn’t want.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean didn’t dare to look at his phone again for a couple of days, then he had to turn it back on in case Sam needed to contact him from the Farmer’s Market. Right away, he saw he had a message on the Bakers Dozen app and guilt crashed down on top of him like a ton of bricks.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Hello?</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I made an assumption last time that perhaps I shouldn’t have. My apologies.</p>
  <p>I miss your messages.</p>
  <p>Best regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>Ugh, Dean was <em>such</em> an ass. And a total chicken. This wasn’t just <em>any</em> person he’d chatted up in a bar and then decided to ghost when things took a turn. This was his friend, who’d shared with him some of the most intimate details of his life. It would be cruel to just ignore this man, this incredibly insightful, open-hearted person who’d reached in and touched Dean’s soul. He deserved honesty.</p>
<p>Oh, this was going to <em>suck</em>. Much like his skills with bread-making, he didn’t feel particularly good about sharing his feelings. He’d much rather deflect and joke around, so each tap of a key was like the pull of a tooth.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Sorry</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>I’m sorry, you must feel awfully confused by my behavior. I was dropping all kinds of hints about getting to know each other and then the minute you hit me with actually meeting up I pull a disappearing act. I might act confident, but I guess when push comes to shove, I’m really a coward. I was afraid – what if you don’t like me?</p>
</blockquote><p>Thankfully, AC was <em>not</em> an ass and didn’t make him wait long for a reply. In fact, it was almost like he’d been waiting for it. Had he?</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Sorry</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I already like you.</p>
  <p>Best regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>Well, that didn’t mean much coming from AC, who didn’t understand what something being a ‘jam’ was, other than preserved fruit. ‘Like’ could mean any number of things.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Clarification</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>Even though you have no idea what I look like?</p>
</blockquote><p>Now, Dean thought he was attractive, at least to women. They were plenty vocal about how built he was (lifting endless sacks of flour and sugar will do that), how pretty his green eyes were, how unfair his lashes were, how adorable his freckles were. They enjoyed touching his light brown hair that he usually wore up in soft spikes and the kissing… well, kissing was generally pretty great. He had nice lips, he wore lip balm to keep them soft and girls seemed to like it. He was confident with women in and out of bed.</p>
<p>But men… Dean knew he liked them but he didn’t have a lot of solid experience with them. Flirting, yes, a little dancing at bars, maybe a little bit of texting, sure, but not much else. He had no way of knowing if they were each other’s ‘type.’ He took a deep breath and added another line before sending it.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Some people stop liking me once they hear I’m bisexual.</p>
</blockquote><p>It was hard to believe in this modern era that some people thought because he was bi he was either ‘confused’ or ‘greedy’ or some other nonsense. Some women thought he would eventually leave them for a man and some men thought he would want to leave for a woman, like he could never be happy with a single partner and that’s just not how it worked.</p>
<p>He’d strongly implied his preferences to AC before, but this was the first time he’d actually said the word. And it was terrifying to sit there with his phone in his hand, waiting to hear back from the first man he’d been seriously interested in since… well, probably since his first male crush that clued him in to the fact that he was bisexual. (Thank you, Dr. Sexy MD.)</p>
<p>His phone buzzed. He almost dropped it.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Clarification</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>Have I ever asked what you look like? I never intended for this to go beyond electric correspondence, so your looks don’t matter to me at all. Your sexuality does matter because that is who you are and I want to respect it. But everything about this is new to me.</p>
  <p>I never used to wonder about my life. It’s quiet. Inconsequential. Not much different from my many siblings, like we’re nearly interchangeable. And then you came screaming into it. And I started to wonder… Do I live this life because I like it or because it’s easy to do what’s expected? You made me wonder, could I be brave? Somehow, hearing you have fears as well is a comfort to me. I’m not alone.</p>
  <p>I just know I like you.</p>
  <p>Best regards, AC</p>
  <p>PS – My pie is improving.</p>
</blockquote><p>Oh, damn. He thought so, considering his background, and this all but confirmed it. AC was just beginning to discover who he was. The thought of maybe being his first man crush was incredibly humbling since they’d never met, but also really intimidating. He had no idea what kind of expectations he had to live up to. Mouth suddenly dry, Dean’s heart started to pound up in his throat. He closed his eyes and breathed deep through his nose, attempting to calm himself. Were they really discussing this?</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Stuff</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>I like you too, which is why it’s hard for me to understand why you don’t care what I look like. I’d like to know what you look like. Not that it has anything to do with who you are, the person I’ve been getting to know in these messages – it’s just a normal thing people like to know.</p>
  <p>I don’t want you to think that my opinion of you hangs on your looks. It doesn’t. I have nothing but respect for you too. I just want us both to want the same thing. I’m not sure if I’ve ever wanted something more.</p>
  <p>Also – I’m glad your pie is getting better.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Stuff</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>If this is so, then why did you disappear when I suggested we meet?</p>
  <p>Best regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Stuff</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>Like I said, I was afraid. I thought if you didn’t like me, or if I scared you off, you’d stop emailing and this would be over. And I’d rather go on being anonymous than have that happen.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: An idea</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>It won’t happen.</p>
  <p>We could meet on neutral ground in public during a specific window of time. I have a little time this Sunday, between three to five in the afternoon. Do you know the Chocolatier on Trumpet Street, the one with the café inside? It’s always very busy.</p>
  <p>Best regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: An idea</p>
  <p>It’s always busy because they have the BEST chocolate there!</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: An idea</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>You never fail to make me smile. You must have been there before if you are so excited to return that you neglected your opening gambit to me. Perhaps it’s silly, but I liked the idea that I influenced you to write ‘Dear AC’ each time.</p>
  <p>Fond regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: It’s a date</p>
  <p>Dear AC, (happy now?)</p>
  <p>Actually, I think I left it out because it felt natural. Like we’re having a real back and forth conversation rather than blocks of text framed by questions. You’re a real stickler for politeness. But I’ve always liked that about you.</p>
</blockquote><p>This was it. It was a big decision. What did he want? To go on passing messages back and forth and nothing really coming of it, or was he willing to take a chance? There was a lot to lose… and a lot to gain. For once in his life, Dean wanted something badly enough to take the risk.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Let’s do this thing. Sunday. I’ll bring bread.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: It’s a date</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I’ll bring pie.</p>
  <p>See you Sunday, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>He looked at that last line for a long time. ‘See you Sunday.’ Sunday! That was only a few days away! He had to make his best loaf of bread by then and he still had a shop to run!</p>
<p>Running downstairs, he texted Sam: BUY MORE BREAD FLOUR!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You cannot possibly be making more bread.”</p>
<p>Dean didn’t even look up from the dough he was kneading. “I can and I am.”</p>
<p>“What is this obsession?”</p>
<p>“It’s not an obsession.”</p>
<p>“Sure. How many loaves does it take to make it an obsession, then?” Sam leaned over the island, trying to make eye contact with his brother. “Come on. You’ve been at this for days. You’ve barely slept!”</p>
<p>That made him glance up. “Do I look bad?”</p>
<p>“Well…”</p>
<p>“Fuck!”</p>
<p>Sam smiled. “No, Dean, you don’t look bad. Maybe a little… on edge, though.” He came around the island. “Come on, let’s go out. It’s Saturday, it’s nice out. There’s a street fair today. Your bread needs time to rise, doesn’t it? You need to have some fun.”</p>
<p>He sighed. Looked over at the pile of just-okay bread then down at the lump he’d been pounding. Did he feel good about this one? Enough to take off for a few hours and rest everything on this one last loaf?</p>
<p>“We could check out the competition down the street,” Sam wheedled and damn if he didn’t know Dean’s weaknesses. “Been a while since we last looked at their menus and crowds…”</p>
<p>“Alright,” he said, relenting.</p>
<p>“Yes!”</p>
<p>“Just let me clean up a bit and we’ll go.”</p>
<p>Dean changed out of his messy baking clothes and pulled on one of his favorite Zepplin t-shirts, nothing branded with The Piehole logo, they were going incognito.</p>
<p>However, he almost forgot about what they were intending to do once they were out on the street. There were people and vendors everywhere, street bands on every block, an electric atmosphere, and seeing the way Sam’s eyes lit up, like he was still the little kid he used to be, reminded Dean a bit too much of their non-traditional upbringing. When they’d wanted to have fun in the past, they’d always gone just the two of them, leaving their dad absorbed in work. There were days Dean wasn’t even sure he knew they were out. He was there… but he wasn’t. And he and Sam never really talked about it, they just carried on.</p>
<p>“Hey, Sammy,” said Dean, clearing his throat to get rid of the sudden tightness. “Want to get your face painted?”</p>
<p>Sam tossed the joke right back. “I will if you will.”</p>
<p>Dean punched him in the arm and they moved past the painting booth. “Remember the goldfish I won you that one time?”</p>
<p>“Captain Floaty? I remember. You gave him a beautiful eulogy.” This time, Sam dodged the punch and returned with one of his own.</p>
<p>“He was the only pet we ever had,” said Dean. “He deserved it.” He aimed his thumb behind them. “Sure you don’t want the face paint? You’d make a cute fairy princess.”</p>
<p>“Your butt is a fairy princess.”</p>
<p>They turned the corner and almost ran right into someone in the middle of the sidewalk holding a tray. Reflexively, Dean grabbed it, helping to keep it and its contents from going flying.</p>
<p>“Whoa!” he said.</p>
<p>“Oh!” The man looked up with tired eyes, dark circles underneath, but they were still so beautiful. Bluer than the ocean on a postcard. It took Dean a moment to register the messy dark hair and then the white uniform he had on. “Thank you. Sorry. I didn’t see you.”</p>
<p>Whatever Dean had been about to say dried up. If the logo on the man’s shirt hadn’t told him, the blaring religious music he could now make out from the rest of the bands playing around them would have clued him in. They were standing in front of Your Daily Bread. Sam’s mouth was in a flat, grim line.</p>
<p>The baker looked from one brother to the other, clearly at a loss. He offered the tray. “Sample?” he asked. “Tomato bruschetta on fresh baked baguette.”</p>
<p>It was in his mind to refuse, but then Dean remembered they were trying to check out the other bakeries. And he wouldn’t be giving them any money for it. “Sure,” he said, taking one. “Italian and French. Interesting combo.”</p>
<p>He shoved the morsel in his mouth whole… and then wished he hadn’t. It was easily one of the tastiest pieces of bread he’d ever had and something he would have wanted to savor. He chewed slowly to make up for it. “Wow,” slipped out around the mouthful.</p>
<p>The man smiled. Suddenly, he didn’t look so tired. Or maybe the sun peeped out from behind a cloud, lighting up his face. “You like it?” he asked.</p>
<p>Dean swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. “It’s… really good,” he said, honestly. Talent recognized talent, especially one that he was lacking in. “Is that balsamic vinegar?”</p>
<p>“Ginger persimmon balsamic, actually. And extra virgin olive oil—”</p>
<p>“Garlic and oregano—”</p>
<p>“Salt and pepper, of course—”</p>
<p>“Of course. That’s the best—I mean, I’ve never been to France or anything, but that baguette—damn.”</p>
<p>Then the man did something extraordinary. He <em>blushed</em>.</p>
<p>“Uh, Dean,” Sam started to say.</p>
<p>Dean picked up another baguette slice and shoved it in his brother’s mouth. “Here, Sammy, eat this.” While Sam tried not to choke, Dean turned back to the dark-haired baker. “So, what’s your secret to the perfect baguette? I read somewhere that it has to do with the water in France.”</p>
<p>The baker ducked his head a bit closer, like he was imparting forbidden knowledge. Dean found himself leaning in as well. “That’s a myth,” he confided. “The real secret—”</p>
<p>“Castiel,” a sharp voice broke in. The man with the tray, the named Castiel, jumped guiltily and seemed to shrink back inside himself as a shorter man with a curly gray beard emerged from within the bakery. He had similar blue eyes and wore the same all-white uniform, but the shirt was double breasted, like a fancy chef’s jacket. It was embroidered with his name along with the logo – Chuck. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his steely eyes. “Telling all our secrets again, are we?” Laughing, he patted Castiel on the back and grinned at Dean. “He just can’t help himself. He <em>loves</em> talking about food.”</p>
<p>Dean took an instant dislike to this Chuck. Everything he said dripped with condescension. “I appreciate the expertise,” he said. “Some people like to know what they’re eating.”</p>
<p>“Oh, everything we make here is one hundred percent all natural,” he hastened to assure him. “As it should be!”</p>
<p>“Uh huh.” Maybe he was reading into it too much, but suddenly Dean couldn’t wait to leave. “Well, thanks.”</p>
<p>“Come again soon!” Turning away, he took the tray from Castiel. “Why don’t you go back to the kitchen. Uriel can take over out here.”</p>
<p>Castiel said nothing, but Dean thought he caught a glimpse of those blue eyes in his direction one last time. Poor guy. He couldn’t leave the way Dean could and it looked like maybe that was all he wanted to do.</p>
<p>“One last thing,” Dean found himself saying. Both men stopped and looked at him. He probably should have left well enough alone, but he just couldn’t. “Do you make anything with strawberries?”</p>
<p>Chuck beamed at him. “Oh, you must have heard about our new strawberry swirl loaf!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I think I might have.”</p>
<p>“Dean,” murmured Sam, but Dean ignored him.</p>
<p>“What I can’t figure out,” he went on, “is why you would choose white strawberries for a so-called strawberry loaf. The white kind tastes like pineapple, which is kinda confusing, don’t you think? It’s almost like false advertising – ordering strawberry and tasting pineapple.”</p>
<p>Castiel almost looked impressed, whereas Chuck’s face shuttered completely.</p>
<p>“You know an awful lot about Japanese White Soul Strawberries,” he said, flatly.</p>
<p>“Well, they’re pretty hard to come by out here in the middle of Kansas, but yeah, I know a thing or two,” said Dean.</p>
<p>“When a thing is rare, it makes more people want to try it,” said Chuck. “And, as you can see,” here, he indicated his uniform and the all-white canopy over the storefront, “white is kind of our thing.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. I bet it is,” said Dean, equally flat. “A branding thing.”</p>
<p>“Right.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” He let the beat hang there. “Well, thanks for the bruschetta, Castiel,” he said, pronouncing the man’s name deliberately and completely ignoring Chuck. “Very impressive.”</p>
<p>“Th-thank you,” he said, quietly.</p>
<p>He nodded and grabbed his brother by the shoulder, stalking down the street. “C’mon, Sam.”</p>
<p>“Ow, my arm!”</p>
<p>Dean didn’t stop or speak again until they’d turned the next corner, which fed into a brick alleyway. He ducked in and punched the wall.</p>
<p>“Dean!”</p>
<p>“Damn it!” Dean yelled, green fire blazing in his eyes. He pointed at Sam’s face with a now bleeding hand. “<em>That</em> is why I hate those fuckers! They put on one mask for the paying public and another for everyone else. They don’t care about food or feeding people or whatever their so-called message is, it’s about projecting an image that appeals to a certain kind of people who have a lot of money to spend.”</p>
<p>“Dean,” Sam said again, quieter. He put his hands on his brother’s shoulders in a calming gesture, but Dean shook him off.</p>
<p>“Don’t, I’m still mad,” he growled.</p>
<p>“I know, I get it. Remember? I was the one who said they were asshats. I’m surprised that Chuck guy didn’t recognize me, but he probably didn’t even look at anyone else who wanted White Soul Strawberries.” He waited while Dean took a few deep breaths. “Let’s go back home.” He tried a smile. “You’re bleeding all over the street.”</p>
<p>Dean looked at his hand as if just noticing the damage. “Fuck,” he spat. “No more kneading tonight I guess.”</p>
<p>“I’ll do it for you.”</p>
<p>“No, no,” he said, somewhat defeated, beginning to walk down the sidewalk. “With my luck, it’ll turn out flat as a pancake.”</p>
<p>“Pita?”</p>
<p>“No! It has to rise!” He muttered, “That’s the whole point.”</p>
<p>“You’re going the wrong way.”</p>
<p>“No, I’m not,” said Dean, pointing ahead. “We’re doing two more turns and going in a complete circle. I’m not walking past that horrible music again.”</p>
<p>He was pretty sure Sam knew his complaint wasn’t entirely with the music, but he didn’t say anything, he just walked alongside as they took the long way home.</p>
<p>---</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: I’ve never</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>You’ve made me do something I’ve never done before. I have now prayed to a loaf of bread. That is something I’ve done now in case anybody brings it up during a game of “I’ve Never.” I will now have to take a shot if anyone says “I’ve never prayed to baked goods.” Is there anything else you would recommend I do while I’m at it? Blood sacrifice, maybe?</p>
  <p>It’s Sunday morning, technically. I haven’t slept. I’m too keyed up. So I woke my dough up too and it’s in the oven now. I’m hoping it isn’t angry with me for getting it up before morning. I know I would be. I’m useless before coffee. It would be just like me to refuse to rise before I’m ready. I hope this loaf is not like me.</p>
  <p>I’m sitting on the floor in front of it, typing this message in the golden glow of the oven light, praying that this loaf is the one. The one loaf out of the dozen or so I’ve made in the last few days that might be acceptable to bring you later.</p>
  <p>I was upset today. I mean, yesterday. Saturday. It made me think of you. Not that you make me upset. I’ve just been thinking about you a lot. I think I’ve become addicted to you. We haven’t written since agreeing to meet, a sort of unspoken embargo on messages until we see each other face to face. Or maybe you’ve been making as many pies as I’ve been making loaves of bread and neither of us has had time to sit and write an email. I kind of like that image… the two of us slaving away in our separate kitchens. We might as well be two stars. Separate, but beside each other in the same sky, almost like being together. Like Alpha Centauri. With the naked eye, it looks like one big star, but it’s actually two side by side.</p>
  <p>Man, I must be tired. I’m getting all corny.</p>
  <p>I wonder if I will hear from you in the morning or if you’ll wait for our meeting. We <em>are</em> still meeting, right?</p>
  <p>Are you sleeping right now? I’m trying to picture it. What kind of pajamas do you wear?</p>
  <p>…Do you wear pajamas?</p>
</blockquote><p>He hit send before he could think better of that last line. Maybe he had too much beer that night. Maybe he should stop blaming what he said on alcohol. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he rocked back and forth, humming a tune he didn’t remember hearing, bathed in the light from the oven.</p>
<p>“Rise, my creation, rise,” he whispered in an impression of Dr Frankenstein.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: I’ve never</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>Good morning. Yes, I am coming to our meeting today. If I hadn’t been so exhausted, I think I might not have slept either. I woke very early today, as this message will attest. I am still in bed as I type this. And considering making another pie. I think ‘what’s one more at this point?’ I won’t reveal how many pies I made this week. You might wonder for my sanity.</p>
  <p>I hope you will be pleased to know that you are not alone. I have also prayed to many a loaf of bread, though I do not recommend blood anywhere near your food. I have also shouted at a pie, not something I ever thought I would do. But I quite like this image of you that I have in my head - sitting before your oven, wrapped in light, surrounded by the dark. I can’t quite make out your face. Yet.</p>
  <p>I’m sorry you were upset yesterday; I don’t even know the reason but it makes me irrationally angry to think of you upset. I think I know what you mean about addiction - seeing a message from you after not receiving one for several days was euphoric. It feels like adventure. It feels… dangerous. But I don’t think what I’m feeling is fear. I know what that feels like. I’ve never felt this before. You inspire a lot of new feelings.</p>
  <p>As for pajamas… when it’s cold, I wear them. When it’s hot… sometimes I do not.</p>
  <p>With anticipation, AC</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Dreams</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>I can’t picture you angry. But I very much want to picture you in and out of pajamas.</p>
  <p>I finally fell asleep after getting my loaf out of the oven early this morning. The sun was just starting to rise and the sky was all pink. Now I have hours to go before we meet and, in the hours when I slept, I had a vivid dream about you. I’m hoping it’s a sign. A good one.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Dreams</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>Oh, I can get angry.</p>
  <p>I’ve had dreams about you during our correspondence as well. But just how ‘vivid’ was it? Was it… sexy?</p>
  <p>Curiously, AC</p>
</blockquote><p><em>Gulp</em>. Dean had a few choices here. He could be evasive. He could shut up. Or he could nut up. Hand shaking, he tapped five keys.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Dreams.</p>
  <p>Very.</p>
</blockquote><p>He exhaled hard and waited for AC’s response. He was supposed to be getting ready to leave and head for the chocolate café, but if he’d just messed everything up, then… well, he supposed he wouldn’t be going anywhere.</p>
<p>His phone buzzed.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Dreams</p>
  <p>What did we do? What did I look like?</p>
</blockquote><p>For the first time ever, AC hadn’t opened and closed the message like a Bennet Sister. Oh, God. This felt momentous. This was important to him. This… could get dangerously close to cybering if Dean wasn’t careful. He definitely wasn’t ready for that, let alone if AC was ready, which he very much doubted.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Dreams</p>
  <p>It was in the dark, so I couldn’t see you. Just feel.</p>
</blockquote><p>That was woefully vague but at the same time, all he could really describe without being too graphic. He squirmed, remembering the dream even now, his breath coming faster as he recalled the body pressed up against him, the wandering hands, the warm, soft lips, and the voice in his ear that sounded far too much like Dean’s own voice, just because he didn’t know what AC sounded like. That was the only part of the dream that had left him unsatisfied.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Dreams</p>
  <p>How could you tell it was me you were… feeling?</p>
</blockquote><p>Again, no greeting. No ‘regards.’ Thankfully, he could answer this one without having to be evasive.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Dreams</p>
  <p>Only one person on Earth talks like you. And that’s you.</p>
  <p>Are we really still meeting today?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Today</p>
  <p>I hope so, or I’ve been baking all these pies as mere practice and you were awake to see the dawn for nothing. What are you afraid of?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Today</p>
  <p>Losing this. Us.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Today</p>
  <p>I understand. But we stand to gain a lot more. I hope.</p>
  <p>I will be there between three and five today. I will look for you. I choose to hope.</p>
</blockquote>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Sam, you <em>have</em> to come with me.” Dean trailed his brother around their upstairs apartment, attempting to grovel, but Sam wouldn’t even look at him and Dean was miserable. He’d already sweat through two of his nicest shirts and it was almost two o’clock.</p><p>“Oh-ho, no,” said Sam. “There is no way in hell I am coming with you on a date. You ever hear of a third wheel?”</p><p>“It’s called a wingman.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Backup.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“<em>Please</em>, Sam. I’m begging, I am <em>actually</em> begging. Do I have to get on my knees?”</p><p>“It wouldn’t hurt.”</p><p>“Bit—” He swallowed the rest of his usual insult. “I need you. You don’t have to come inside.”</p><p>“Then why would I even go?”</p><p>“I’m scared.”</p><p>“You…” Sam finally turned to look at Dean and startled, apparently surprised by what he saw in his face. “Damn. You really are. Why?”</p><p>“Because I like this guy so damn much and he could be old, toothless, a glass eye. He could have a nose that whistles. He might have no nose at all! And that’s not even what really scares me.”</p><p>“No? It would scare me a little,” Sam muttered.</p><p>He shook his head. “What scares me is I might be ruining a good thing. A great thing. Maybe the best thing to ever happen to me by making it real. Because it has the potential to be an even <em>better</em> thing. Sam…” He took a deep breath. “I’ve never felt like this. If he looks like the ass end of a butt-beast, I would still be completely nuts not to upend my life to make room for him in it.”</p><p>Sam’s mouth was dangling open. “Wow. Maybe I <em>should</em> meet him, if I’m going to be a brother in law soon…”</p><p>Dean punched his arm, maybe a little harder than he normally would. “I’m serious!”</p><p>“So am I!” Putting his hands on his hips, Sam gave Dean his flat-browed bitch face for a hot second, then uttered a long breath as he rolled his eyes. “Let me get my coat.”</p><p>“Yes! Thank you! I’ll go get the bread!”</p><p>“The what?”</p><p>“Never mind!”</p><p>---</p><p>“I thought you’d be wearing a rose or something,” Sam said later as they walked down the last block toward Trickster, the chocolate café. The twinkling fairy lights could be seen already. “Carrying a bunch of flowers, not bringing a loaf of bread, though this certainly explains a lot about this week.”</p><p>Dean compulsively rewrapped the loaf in the brown paper sack he’d brought it in, hoping the people at the café didn’t mind that he was bringing in his own food. “He bakes bread, dude, it’s what brought us together.”</p><p>“Yeah, but flowers are romantic.”</p><p>“Lame.”</p><p>“Your face is lame.” Sam came to a stop a short distance from the door. Hands still in his pockets, he gestured, waving the ends of his jacket. “Well, here we are, you wuss. Go on.”</p><p>Dean looked at the door and seriously contemplated ditching the bread to use the paper bag to breathe through. Of course, he didn’t, he couldn’t. But he also couldn’t move. “You go look.”</p><p>“What? No!”</p><p>“Don’t go in, just look through the window. Tell me if you see someone with a pie.”</p><p>“They don’t sell, like, a chocolate pie here?”</p><p>Dean’s eyes widened. “Fuck! I don’t know!”</p><p>“Okay, okay, stop panicking!”</p><p>“I’m not panicking!”</p><p>“You so are!” He held up his hands. “I’ll look, alright? Calm down.”</p><p>Dean inhaled. “Yeah?” In the next second, he grabbed his brother’s arm. “No, don’t!”</p><p>“Dude, I will seriously leave you here.”</p><p>“Okay, go look. Go.”</p><p>Sam waited another second to see if Dean would try his patience one more time, but he’d gotten very good over the years at sensing when Sam was at his limit.</p><p>Clutching the paper-wrapped bundle to his chest, he waited while his brother casually walked past the door and looked into the café with the air of passing interest. When he didn’t say anything, Dean prompted, “Well? Are there any attractive guys?”</p><p>“Plenty. But no pies.”</p><p>Dean deflated. AC hadn’t come. He’d turned him off with all his uncertainty and he’d stayed home. Dean wasn’t sure what he wanted to feel, relief or disappointment, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it was the latter.</p><p>“Oh, wait a minute…”</p><p>His heart leapt up into his throat.</p><p>“There’s a flat white box about the right size for a pie. That could be him.”</p><p>It was. It had to be. It wasn’t someone with a to-go box, it was AC. He was here. “What’s he look like?”</p><p>“I can’t tell, there’s a server in the way, hang on…”</p><p>Dean grit his teeth and tried not to wish ill on the unseen server doing their job. Suddenly, Sam reared back a little.</p><p>Crestfallen, Dean let the bag of bread dangle from one hand. “There’s something wrong with him, isn’t there?”</p><p>“Well… no.”</p><p>“There has to be, something terribly wrong. I can see it on your face.”</p><p>“He’s good-looking, Dean.”</p><p>“He is?” Sam didn’t sound very happy about that, but Dean couldn’t help the tiny spark of hope that flared in his chest. “Will I think so?”</p><p>“Maybe. I don’t do dudes.”</p><p>“I know, but objectively…?”</p><p>“Objectively. He… reminds me of someone we met recently.”</p><p>“Really? Who?”</p><p>“Whom.”</p><p>“SAM.”</p><p>“You remember that bruschetta guy from yesterday?”</p><p>The change in topic was so sudden, it nearly gave Dean whiplash. “Uh, yeah. I’d honestly rather forget that moment, though.”</p><p>“Well, if you didn’t think <em>he</em> was attractive, you’re not going to like this guy.”</p><p>“They’re that similar?”</p><p>“See for yourself. He’s not looking this way.”</p><p>With trepidation mounting by the second, Dean crept over to the window and nudged his brother out of the way. And sure enough, it wasn’t just a man who looked like Castiel – it <em>was</em> Castiel. Sitting there with a cup of something that was probably cocoa, given the shop. He wasn’t wearing his uniform, he had a tan coat draped over the back of his chair and he had on a plain navy suit, but it was clearly him. Dean’s shoulders drooped. He turned and headed back up the street. Sam just managed to catch his arm when he would have thrown the bread in a public trash can.</p><p>“Whoa, whoa, whoa, dude! What are you <em>doing</em>?”</p><p>“What does it look like?” Dean asked, flatly.</p><p>“You’re just going to <em>leave</em> him there? I thought this guy was the one!”</p><p>“He can’t be. It’s impossible!”</p><p>“You think it’s a coincidence that he’s here right now? By himself? With a pie box? Considering what you know about your friend, isn’t it possible?”</p><p>It was more than possible. Dean was ninety-nine percent sure that Castiel was AC. The hyper religious family bit certainly fit. “I can’t do this.”</p><p>“Why? I didn’t think you were <em>that</em> vindictive over Daily Bread.”</p><p>“I’m not! But Sam… this is his first time.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “You know.”</p><p>“Oh.” He seemed to get it, but Dean went on, maybe to convince himself as well.</p><p>“Think about it. It would never work. He couldn’t introduce me to his loved ones as anything but a friend, and of course, I’ve already screwed that up. Chuck would take one look at me and I’d be on the outs. He couldn’t bring me home for holidays. His whole family would probably disown him, he practically said that’s what happened to his brother. Even if he <em>did</em> want to choose me over them… I can’t be responsible for isolating him like that. I can’t replace a whole family.”</p><p>Sam looked into the café one more time, then back to Dean, clearly disagreeing. “Okay. Now consider this.” He turned Dean at the shoulder, making him look in at Castiel. “This man is figuring out some very important things right now. Pretty late in life, too, though he’s possibly known and been in denial for a lot longer. He’s been keeping everything inside. You know how that feels.”</p><p>He did. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He saw Castiel push back his sleeve to look at his watch. A group of people sat down at the table next to his and one man grabbed the chair across from Castiel. Immediately, he held up a hand. Dean couldn’t hear what was said, but he imagined he was saying that he was waiting for someone. The man left the chair alone and got one from a different table.</p><p>“What if he never tries again, Dean?” Sam was insistent. “Even if it doesn’t work out between you in the long run, he’s still doing something very brave and expecting you to play a key role. If you don’t show up tonight, he could just crawl right back into that white-on-white shithole and never make an attempt at something <em>real</em> ever again.” He paused. “Could you be responsible for <em>that</em>?”</p><p>Dean bit his lip, almost brought to the point of tears. He blinked them back. He heard all of what his brother was saying and not saying, but also, his mind was replaying AC’s words from his dream early this morning… and now he could hear them in Castiel’s deep, low voice. It sent a shiver up his spine.</p><p>“Go home, Sam,” he said at last.</p><p>“Dean—”</p><p>“I’ll deal with this. I have to. Go home.”</p><p>Sam gave him a long, hard look and didn’t have to say ‘don’t screw this up’ before he turned around and headed up the street. Dean waited until he’d disappeared around the corner then reached into his jacket pocket for a pen.</p><p>---</p><p>Heart pounding in his throat, Dean did his best to casually walk into Trickster and not look like a robot, stiffly moving his arms and legs. He had the bag with his loaf of bread tucked under one arm like a football. Walking past Castiel’s table, he pretended to look around the café area. When his eyes landed on Castiel he startled, hoping he wasn’t being too theatrical.</p><p>“Hey,” he said, pointing. “I remember you. Castiel, wasn’t it?”</p><p>Those bright blue eyes were wide with honest surprise as he looked up at Dean. “Oh. Yes. Hello.”</p><p>“I’ve been wondering… what kind of a name is ‘Castiel’ anyway? I’ve never heard it before.”</p><p>“The kind of name you get when you have a parent who wants to name all their kids after the angels named in the Bible,” he explained, blandly, as if it was something he’d had to explain numerous times.</p><p>“Seriously? Wow. At least you got a cool-sounding one. I’d be pissed if I got a name that sounded like ‘urinal.’” Dean grinned as Castiel suppressed a chuckle at that. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here. Mind if I sit?” he asked, already doing so.</p><p>“Yes, I do mind,” said Castiel, clearly distressed as Dean sat down. “I’m meeting someone.”</p><p>“Oh, I see,” he said. “Girlfriend?”</p><p>Castiel was silent. Dean lifted his eyebrows suggestively.</p><p>“Boyfriend?”</p><p>His expression shuttered. “I don’t think it’s any of your business. Would you mind? I don’t want them to get here and think I’m with someone else.”</p><p>He obviously didn’t know that he’d basically telegraphed he was meeting a man. “Well, I’m not staying. I just wanted to apologize to you.”</p><p>That brought him up short. “To me? Why?”</p><p>“I was a real jerk yesterday and that’s no way to treat a neighbor. Also, I hope I didn’t inadvertently get you in trouble with your boss. Sometimes my mouth writes checks that my ass can’t cash.”</p><p>Castiel smiled a little. “It’s fine, but I appreciate your apology, unnecessary though it is.”</p><p>Dean beamed at him. There’s that manner of speech he loved.</p><p>“You say you’re a neighbor?” Castiel asked.</p><p>Nodding, Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card, which he handed over. “Yeah, this is me.”</p><p>“The Piehole,” Castiel read. “Dean Winchester, owner.”</p><p>“Pleasure to meet you. Officially.”</p><p>“Likewise. This is right around the corner from where I work,” said Castiel. “I’m sorry I’ve never been in, but my father frowns on us soliciting other bakeries.”</p><p>“Well, some bakeries take it personally, you know,” Dean said, leaning in conspiratorially. “They call it spying.”</p><p>“Isn’t it?”</p><p>“Maybe a little.”</p><p>Castiel chuckled.</p><p>“If you ever feel like breaking the rules, you should stop by,” said Dean. “Our pies are the best in town.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” was all he said, but he pocketed the business card.</p><p>“So, you’re meeting someone, you said?” asked Dean, waiting for Castiel’s nod before continuing. “Have you known them long?”</p><p>“Not… too terribly long, I suppose. But…”</p><p>“But?”</p><p>The blue eyes took on a dreamy quality and Castiel’s sharp jaw softened. “We share a profound bond.”</p><p>Dean put a hand over his racing heart. “Wow.” He looked down so he wouldn’t give too much away. “They sound really important. I guess I should go… I just think it kinda sucks that they’re keeping you waiting all alone.”</p><p>“I’ve waited many years,” said Castiel. “I can wait a little longer.”</p><p>“Before I leave,” he said, “you haven’t happened to see someone bring in a pie, have you?”</p><p>Castiel’s spine straightened. “Why?”</p><p>He set the brown paper bag on the table so the writing on the front was visible. “I’m supposed to give them this.”</p><p>With shaking hands, Castiel reached for the bag and tilted it to read what was scrawled there.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>I’m so sorry. I wanted to meet you today. There isn’t enough space here to tell you why I’m suddenly unavailable, but I beg you from the bottom of my heart to forgive me. Be angry, but please forgive. I promise to explain. I hope I haven’t ruined things between us and that you will still write to me. If I have completely screwed everything up, I will never be able to forgive myself.</p>
  <p>With my whole heart,</p>
  <p>Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>He touched the word ‘heart’ and then the signature. “He never signs his messages,” said Castiel, softly, a catch in his throat. “It’s me, I’m AC. This is for me.” When he looked up, his eyes were electric blue with unshed tears. “You… you met him.”</p><p>Dean couldn’t get a word out if he wanted to. “Mm-hmm,” he squeaked.</p><p>“What—” He swallowed, blinking. “What was he like?”</p><p>“Well, that’s kinda subjective—”</p><p>“<em>Please</em>.”</p><p>The pleading note was impossible to refuse. “Sad,” Dean said, finally.</p><p>Castiel’s brows drew together and it was completely unfair. “He seemed sad?”</p><p>Dean nodded and all he wanted to do was kiss the hell out of his adorable man. “I think he hated knowing he was about to disappoint you.”</p><p>“What did he say?”</p><p>“Not much, he was in a hurry—”</p><p>“The <em>words</em>, I need the words.”</p><p>Dean hesitated and licked his lips. “I may not be remembering <em>exactly</em>, but… He handed this package to me like it was fine china and said, ‘there’s a man inside this café that this is for, would you please give it to him for me?’ and I said, ‘who is it?’ and he said, ‘the most charming, most sensitive, most creative and adorable soul I’ve ever had the good luck to meet.’”</p><p>Castiel exhaled shakily. “He said that?”</p><p>“And I said, ‘that’s not a great description’ and he admitted that you’d never met before. I said ‘that’s pretty brave, what if he’s a serial killer?’ But he assured me that wouldn’t be the case.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not, are you?”</p><p>He grinned, even though his eyes were still watery. “How would you know if I was lying?”</p><p>“Fair point. Then he said he was supposed to recognize you from the pie you were bringing.”</p><p>Setting down the bag, Castiel reached for the white box and opened it, revealing perfectly glazed mango slices drizzled in a bright orange sauce arranged in a spiral on top of a white pie. “This was for him.”</p><p>“Wow,” said Dean, eyes widening. “What kind is it?”</p><p>“It’s a mango cheesecake pie with a Scotch Bonnet drizzle.”</p><p>“Sweet and spicy, I like it,” said Dean, trying not to go overboard with the praise when he really wanted to laud his genius. This was a <em>sexy</em> pie. “Did you come up with this yourself?”</p><p>“I did.”</p><p>“That <em>is</em> creative. Though most cheesecakes are made with a crumb crust,” he said, pointing out the hand-fluted edge.</p><p>“No, it <em>had</em> to be a dough crust,” said Castiel, emphatically, making Dean smile, reminding him of when he’d refuted Sam’s suggestion of flatbread yesterday.</p><p>“I like how you chose cheesecake to go along with the pepper, so the dairy would cut the level of heat.”</p><p>“It had more to do with what would best complement the… bonnet.” Castiel glanced down, his cheeks turning red.</p><p>Dean was glad he wasn’t looking because he couldn’t hide his big, goofy smile, thinking back to their first conversation on Bakers Dozen. Clearing his throat, he asked, “So, uh, what did he leave you?”</p><p>Castiel reached for the bag and carefully removed the cottage loaf, making sure not to tear the brown paper. He turned the bread over in his hands like it was something incredibly precious, checking the bottom for burns and thumping the top with his fingers to hear the echo, clearly able to tell how done it was just from the sound.</p><p>“Gabe!” he called to the chocolate counter, startling Dean.</p><p>A man with wavy blond hair and matching golden eyes hurried over, smiling. “What’s up, little brother?”</p><p>That was a surprise for Dean. Castiel had chosen this location and his brother worked there, which meant this had to be one of the ‘black sheep’ who had chosen their own path. He could guess immediately why he’d done it, not just for safety because he was meeting someone from the internet, but if the meeting hadn’t gone well, he’d have a shoulder to cry on.</p><p>“Could I borrow a serrated knife, please?” Castiel asked.</p><p>Gabe brought one over, teasingly wagging a finger. “No stabbing my customers,” he warned, winking at Dean as he walked away.</p><p>Castiel immediately cut the cottage loaf in half and breathed deeply, exhaling on a sigh. “It’s the one he made this morning,” he said. “There’s nothing like the smell of fresh baked goods.”</p><p>“Hard agree,” said Dean, unable to hold back.</p><p>“Pretty good rise, pretty even aeration, it’s been kneaded very well,” he went on as he examined the little holes caused by the air bubbles, then looked up at Dean. “Would you like a piece?”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>Castiel nodded. “You’re here and he isn’t.”</p><p>He used the knife to expertly cut a slice, which he broke in half and handed one across the table. Dean took a small bite (he had <em>so</em> much bread at home to eat), but mostly he was absorbed in watching Castiel who bit into his piece with obvious pleasure. He uttered a low, rumbling moan and Dean had to bite his tongue to stave off arousal.</p><p>“It’s… decent,” said Dean, always critical of his own work.</p><p>“It’s more than that,” said Castiel after swallowing. “My mother used to say something to me. She said, ‘The things you bake for a loved one always taste a little better.’ For the first time in a long time, I can tell that’s still true.” When he finished the piece of bread, he placed the two halves of the loaf back into the paper bag. “Thank you, Dean. This means so much to me.”</p><p>“Then, you forgive him?” he asked, heart beating rapidly against his ribs.</p><p>“Of course, I do,” said Castiel. “I’m upset, but I trust him to explain when he can.”</p><p>Dean couldn’t quite hold back a relieved sigh and covered it by clearing his throat. “Well, that’s great. Really great.” That was the understatement of the year. It was fan-fucking-tastic. Dean still had a shot. He stood up and offered his hand which Castiel shook. “I should go. It was really great to see you again, though.”</p><p>“Wait,” said Castiel, also standing. He picked up the pie box, closing the lid as he did so. “Take this with you.”</p><p>“What, really? But you made it for him.”</p><p>“As a thank you,” he said, holding it out. “Things like this are best enjoyed fresh. I can always make another one.”</p><p>Dean <em>really</em> wanted to try the ‘bonnet’ pie, so he accepted the offering. “Thank you. By the way, the number on the business card is my cell. If you text me, I’ll let you know what I think when I eat it.”</p><p>“I will, I appreciate your expertise.”</p><p>He nodded, at a loss for what to say when he really didn’t want to leave in the first place, didn’t want to leave this man ever again, but he smiled and said “See ya around” and made himself walk out of the café.</p><p>When he walked past the window, he saw Gabe hurrying back over. He could well imagine what would be discussed and hoped Castiel’s brother wouldn’t convince him that Pieman should never be forgiven for standing him up. He just hoped he would be sympathetic and kind until Dean could get home and compose a better apology from behind the curtain of anonymity.</p><p>Once he was around the corner and fairly certain he wouldn’t be spotted if Castiel left the café, he leaned against the wall, pressing his forehead to the cool brick. He breathed, taking the first full breath he could manage since arriving at Trickster. He couldn’t hear a thing, not the cars that passed or the sounds of the city, just the manic beating of his own heart.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he got back to The Piehole, Sam was in the living area upstairs watching TV but he immediately muted it when Dean walked in holding the box.</p>
<p>“So, you <em>did</em> meet him,” he said.</p>
<p>“Yes and no,” said Dean, heading for their small kitchen.</p>
<p>“Explain?”</p>
<p>“In a minute? I have something I need to do first.”</p>
<p>Sam shrugged and turned the volume back on.</p>
<p>In their eat-in kitchen, Dean sat down with the sweet and spicy pie and his phone. He cut a slice and held it up, admiring how the cheesecake kept its shape. When he laid it down on its side, he could see that the bottom of the crust hadn’t gone soggy, despite how long it had sat. He assembled a bite with a little of everything on the fork and took the leap.</p>
<p>The first taste was the mango, which was bright and exotic, followed by the sweet cream of the cheesecake, and finally the burning heat of the Scotch Bonnet made itself known, degree by degree. It made his eyes water, only partly because of the pain of the spiciness, and all of it was underlined by a truly excellent, very flaky, golden brown crust. The pie was a work of art. If Castiel texted him, he would tell him so.</p>
<p>Setting down his fork to let himself have a break from the pepper, he picked up his phone to indulge in a different kind of pain.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Absence</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>I am the biggest ass. I’m so sorry. Do you hate me?</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>It was barely a minute before a response came.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Absence</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>It’s fine.</p>
  <p>Regards, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>Fuuuuuck. Dean took another bite of the cheesecake. It was a sweet punishment.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: I’m sorry</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>I knew it. I’ve seriously hurt you. I’m the worst. Please, forgive me. Tell me what I can do to apologize. I’ll accept any penance you want.</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>The next one took a little bit longer.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: I’m sorry</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>You did hurt me. I felt horribly rejected by you at first. Your stand-in softened the blow somewhat. I will forgive you on the caveat that you tell me exactly what kept you from meeting me tonight.</p>
  <p>Regards, AC</p>
  <p>PS – I enjoyed your bread very much. Also, I’ve noticed that you’ve begun to sign our correspondence. What changed?</p>
</blockquote><p>Hardly able to catch his breath, Dean typed as fast as he could.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: I’m sorry</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>I’m so, so sorry I made you feel that way. Yes, I will explain everything. As our meeting time got closer, I started thinking about what kind of future you and I could have if things went well. This is the reason that had me hesitating – I suddenly remembered an earlier conversation of ours about your family. Have you thought about how they would react to our meeting? That’s what stopped me from going in.</p>
  <p>I’m glad you enjoyed the bread, I still wasn’t one hundred percent happy with it, but it was my best effort.</p>
  <p>To be honest, I didn’t know what to sign at the bottom of these messages before. Sincerely? Best wishes? Your friend? Plus, I felt a little silly signing something as ‘Pieman.’ But when I knew how I felt, I knew what to write. There was only one thing that made sense.</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean took another bite of cheesecake, his lips and mouth on fire though he was well aware that it would have been so much worse without the dairy. It made him wonder what it might feel like to eat this and then kiss someone also eating it. Probably pretty wet, as peppers tended to make people salivate. Idly, he also noted that oral sex was completely out of the question until the effects of the capsaicin wore off. It was probably better to not combine peppers with pleasure.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Penance</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>Ah, I understand now. To tell the truth, I had purposefully not thought about how my family would react. I didn’t want to burden myself with that worry until I could meet you and learn what that felt like. I thought ‘maybe it will be different in person. Maybe this will solve the puzzle and end the magic once all questions are answered.’ But I don’t think I can fool myself any longer, even though we didn’t meet. My emotions have been compromised in the best and worst ways, thanks to you. Best, because it fills me with elation. Worst, because it goes against everything I know, and that makes it terrifying. I feel like I stand at the edge of a great precipice. Below, a foggy abyss that I can’t see the bottom of. I have no idea what I’m diving into. Will I crash? Or will someone catch me?</p>
  <p>Yours as well, AC</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Penance</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>I want to be the one to catch you. But the guilt I would feel over separating you from your family would eat me alive. You might say you wouldn’t mind, but are you sure you wouldn’t grow to resent me for it eventually? I wish I’d thought more about it before we’d agreed to meet, then maybe I wouldn’t have hurt you to begin with. I was just so ecstatic over how you make me feel and all this happened so fast, I was only thinking of myself and the possibilities between us, I didn’t think about the larger picture until I was standing outside the café. I regret being so short-sighted and ended up hurting you as a result.</p>
  <p>I don’t want to lose you. You’re already a second voice inside my head, accompanying me throughout my day like you’re standing just over my shoulder and if I were to turn around, you would be there. I don’t want to lose that, your cleverness, your charm, your spirit, all filling me up like I was empty before. But you have to be sure, really sure, that this is what you want. We’re talking about you changing your entire life. That’s a pretty big precipice.</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean waited. And waited. He finished the piece of cheesecake and went to get some vanilla ice cream to help cool down his mouth and when he returned, there was a brief message.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Thinking</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I have some thinking to do. But don’t stop writing to me.</p>
  <p>Yours, AC</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Thinking</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>I won’t. Take all the time you need.</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>Feeling like he’d successfully managed to get his point across without screwing things up too badly, Dean got up and took the rest of the pie into the living room. Sam looked up and muted the TV.</p>
<p>“Hungry?” asked Dean. “You like cheesecake.”</p>
<p>“Hell, yeah.”</p>
<p>He let the flavor be a surprise as he sat down to tell Sam about what happened.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>The next morning when Dean unplugged his phone and turned it on, there was a text waiting from a number he didn’t know.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Mr. Winchester, this is Castiel. Did you enjoy the pie?</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean immediately added the number to his contacts before replying. It excited him to know that he now had Castiel’s phone number. Ten digits and he could have his voice in his ear. He wouldn’t do that right away, as much as he wanted to.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Dean: The Scotch Bonnet was potent. It was the sweetest punishment I’ve ever had. I recommend the addition of whipped cream, though that would cover up the fruit. Maybe put it on the side, like at the Cheesecake Factory? Still, what a work of art. And please, call me Dean. I see ‘Mr. Winchester’ and I think of my dad.</p>
  <p>Castiel: Noted. I was calling it the Sweet and Spicy pie, but I like that better – Sweet Punishment. For only the bravest cheesecake lovers. I’d like to do further experimentation. Would you be willing to be my test subject if I brought new things by your establishment sometimes? It would probably be very late; I don’t have a lot of time during the day.</p>
  <p>Dean: Of course! Stop by anytime, my brother and I live above so we’re always there. Just come to the stairs around back, there’s a separate entrance.</p>
  <p>Castiel: Convenient.</p>
  <p>Dean: Would you be interested in trying some of my new inventions when you stop by? I’m always super critical of my work and sometimes I can’t tell what’s good and what isn’t. You’re clearly talented and you strike me as someone who would be honest with me.</p>
  <p>Castiel: Always. It would be an honor to trade baked goods with you.</p>
  <p>Dean: I won’t get you in trouble, will I?</p>
  <p>Castiel: I suspect it would be worth it, but I don’t intend to advertise where I’m going.</p>
  <p>Dean: Rule-breaker.</p>
  <p>Castiel: Tempter.</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean sent back a winking face emoji and resisted the urge to do a goofy dance. Talking to Castiel made him so happy and for once, he wasn’t hiding behind a user name. They both knew whom they were talking to. He tried to ignore the guilt he felt over the fact that he was still hiding something, but he hoped that could change soon.</p>
<p>He opened up the Bakers Dozen app to send AC a message, keeping his promise that he would still write while Castiel considered his options.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Fall</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>I woke up with a clogged nose this morning, which means that Fall is officially upon us. I love seeing the seasons change, but I hate it when this happens because customers always think I’m sick when it’s just seasonal allergies. I’ll probably spend most of this week in the back and let someone else run the counter. Which means, it’s time to invent a new pie. All I can think about is you, which means you’ll be the inspiration.</p>
  <p>I hope you’re doing alright, that you’re not too stressed. You can talk it through with me, if you want to. I won’t be upset by any decision you make. I just want you to be happy.</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>Around mid-day, his reply came through –</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Fall</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I love Lebanon in the Fall and seeing the leaves change colors, it makes me think about the oncoming Winter and the endless passage of time as the year comes to a close. I also can’t help but think about the upcoming holidays and now I wonder – whom do I want to spend them with? I know the answer I want to give and I suspect you know it, too. And then I remember all that is keeping me back. I still don’t know what to choose, but it means the world to me that you’re there on the other end of this line. It’s almost like you’re holding me, bearing me up when sometimes I want to crumble. I want to know what that feels like.</p>
  <p>Yours, AC</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Fall</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>Do me a favor. Go somewhere private. The bathroom or something. Search for a video or an audio file of Metallica’s Nothing Else Matters on your phone. Turn off all the lights and play it. Put your arms around yourself and sway, pretend that it’s me and we’re slow dancing. And I’ll do the same. Two stars, same sky.</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>It was one of Dean’s very favorite classic rock songs and he couldn’t think of another one with better lyrics to describe their relationship. In the dark of the bathroom, he wrapped his arms around his torso and slowly moved back and forth, pretending it was Castiel he was dancing with. He imagined leaning his head against the other man’s cheek, feeling the scruff of his five o’clock shadow. Knowing that he was doing the same thing, hopefully at the same time, it brought tears to Dean’s eyes. Immediately, his stuffy nose began to pour with snot, which ruined the mood somewhat and he had reason to be glad that he was alone.</p>
<p>Still… even with a leaking nose, he wanted Castiel to be there. He suspected that he’d say something reassuring and hand him a tissue and probably make him laugh about it.</p>
<p>When the song ended, he grabbed some toilet paper, wiped his face and blew his nose. He hoped that the message had come across. His phone buzzed and he checked it immediately, the light from his phone nearly blinding him after being in the dark for so long.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I’m speechless. Thank you for this.</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat with some difficulty. Castiel always neglected the greeting and his signature when he was really emotionally compromised. He wrote back –</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Maybe someday – for real.</p>
</blockquote>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is NSFW!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That night, as Dean was uncapping his second beer with Sam, his phone buzzed.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: are you asleep</p>
</blockquote><p>It was Castiel as AC, but there was nothing in the message itself, just the subject line. On top of that, he hadn’t used any punctuation. It was so out of character that Dean briefly wondered if he’d been hacked. But no, anyone else would have sent ‘u up.’ Slipping the phone into his shirt pocket, he stood up.</p>
<p>“I’m heading to bed,” he told Sam.</p>
<p>“Give him my love!” said Sam, saluting him with his beer.</p>
<p>“Shut up!”</p>
<p>The sound of Sam’s laughter muted as Dean closed the door of his bedroom. Propping himself up on a couple of pillows, he got comfortable in bed and replied to Castiel without bothering to frame it like a letter for the sake of keeping things quick.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I’m here. Are you okay?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I found a Liquor store</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>And?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>And I drank it</p>
</blockquote><p>Oh, man. This could be really bad. More than anything, Dean wanted to be there for him when the inevitable consequences caught up with the poor man. He hoped Castiel didn’t have to work the next day, that could be disastrous.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Are you going to be okay?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Don’t know</p>
  <p>Don’t care right now</p>
  <p>Don’t go to sleep</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I won’t. I’m going to stay right here with you.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I wish you were here right now to have a drink with me</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Actually, I do have a beer.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Drink with me so I can pretend you’re here</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean wondered how much of this conversation was being saved by auto-correct. He took a big gulp from his beer bottle, more to catch up than anything else, though he wouldn’t get more than a little tipsy from this.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Okay, we’re having a drink together. If I was there, I’d put my arm around your shoulders.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Are we on a couch</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I’m sitting up in my bed. You could be here next to me, it’s a Queen size. Memory foam.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>That’s nice it remembers you</p>
  <p>I only have a double</p>
  <p>Id like to be there</p>
  <p>Id like to hug you</p>
  <p>I want to put my face in your neck</p>
  <p>I want to know what you smell like</p>
  <p>I need your smell in my nose</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean chuckled. His angel was really out of it, but he was still adorable.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I probably smell like baked goods.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>You and baked goods</p>
  <p>My favorite thing and my other favorite thing</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I know I shouldn’t because you’re drunk and can’t make good decisions right now… but if you really were here, would you let me kiss you?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Yes</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Just one? Or maybe a few?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>As many as you like</p>
  <p>You could do a lot more</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean squirmed in his seat, biting his lip before he took another drink. His jeans were beginning to get uncomfortably tight and he really wanted to get out of them.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I wouldn’t. Not with you like this. But I want to.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I could tell you where I live</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>For some reason, I thought maybe you lived with your family, like in a big mansion somewhere.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>No I have an apartment</p>
  <p>Its small but its mine</p>
  <p>You could come over id leave the door open</p>
  <p>Come down to the room at the end of the hall</p>
  <p>Id wait in the dark</p>
  <p>Feel you kneel on the bed next to me</p>
  <p>Lean over me and Id kiss you blind</p>
  <p>I don’t need to know what you look like I just need to feel you and smell you and hold you against me</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>You are killing me here.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>No dying its not allowed</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Haha, okay. No dying.</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean took a deep breath and began typing again without waiting for a response.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Listen. I don’t want you to be embarrassed by this conversation when you read it tomorrow, okay? We all say things that we’d probably think better of if we were sober. Just know that regardless of what was said, you have every right to change your mind about me – us – all of it. I’m not going to be, you know, expecting anything. I know you’re still thinking about things. I know you could decide that this isn’t what you want.</p>
</blockquote><p>He almost typed that he wouldn’t be upset if that ended up being the case, but he knew it for a lie instantly. He would be upset, he would be heartbroken, but it was Castiel’s decision to make. He would respect it, no matter what.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I want you very much</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Same. I want you and I need you, very much.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>yes</p>
  <p>Sleepy</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be here in the morning.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Goodnight</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean sighed as he typed a matching goodnight then cast his phone aside. How Castiel managed to make drunken ramblings so damn sexy, he had no idea. For all his bluster about gentleman-like restraint, he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d be able to resist a soused and pliant Castiel if he really were there with him. How far would he want to take things? What kind of body was he hiding under his clothes? Dean groaned and palmed himself through his jeans, some friction to take the edge off. He wondered if Castiel was touching himself as well or if he’d just passed out. Both were equally likely.</p>
<p>Fuck it. Dean unbuttoned his pants and reached into his underwear, taking himself in hand as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He imagined himself walking into Castiel’s room in total darkness and cuddling close on his double bed. Leaning down and kissing him, soft at first, then with more and more intensity. Coaxing him to open his mouth by teasing him with his tongue and delving inside. What would he taste like? Tonight, it would be the alcohol he’d consumed and it made Dean wonder what sort he favored. He chose to imagine the burn of his preferred brand of whiskey, a little sweet, a little warm. He would drag his fingers through that dark, messy hair. Would he be shocked if Dean pulled on it a bit? Or would he like it and moan? Maybe a little of both.</p>
<p>Then he’d encourage Castiel to touch him back, to explore the way he’d never been able to before. His hands would be shy and uncertain, but he would learn quickly, guided by Dean’s favorable noises and whispered reassurances, telling him to do the things he liked himself.</p>
<p>It was difficult for him to catch his breath as he stroked himself faster, his spine going stiff as he came, imagining it was Castiel’s hands and not his own bringing him off. He laid there for a long time, waiting for his heart to calm down, before locating some tissues in his bedside table to clean up with.</p>
<p>If this was what it was like just <em>thinking</em> about being with Castiel… the real thing might very well do him in. What a way to go.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>The next morning when Dean woke up, there wasn’t a new message from Castiel waiting for him, but he half expected that.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Last night</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>How are you feeling?</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>An hour later –</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Last night</p>
  <p>I’m taking a sick day.</p>
</blockquote><p>It made Dean smile. Castiel really had to be feeling lousy if he couldn’t manage the letter format he was so fond of.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Last night</p>
  <p>Probably a good idea. Write me when you’re feeling better, okay?</p>
</blockquote><p>Inspiration struck. Leaving The Piehole in Sam’s care, Dean hurried out to the grocery store clutching an index card that was decades old, filled with the faded looping handwriting of their mother. Two hours later, he had a big stock pot full of homemade chicken soup. It had been fun to drag out the old pasta roller, something he hadn’t done in a long time. The steam wafting up into his face brought back hazy memories and he smiled nostalgically.</p>
<p>Opening up his phone, he texted Castiel and made his gambit.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Dean: Hey, guinea pig… My allergies have been going haywire this week and I had this idea to try my mom’s old soup recipe from when we were sick as kids. It says it’s good for anything from hangovers to the common cold so I have high hopes. But I made, like, a ton of it. Interested? I could drop it by your place, if you want. Unless you’re afraid I’m a serial killer.</p>
</blockquote><p>Hitting send, he held his breath and went to find a thermos, choosing to be optimistic. By the time he’d located one and rinsed it out, his phone buzzed.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Castiel: That… actually sounds great. I am not feeling well today. 77 Illinois Ave. Hit the buzzer for #2A and I’ll let you in. If you are a serial killer, well, at least my head would stop hurting.</p>
</blockquote><p>It took Dean almost no time at all to drive there, or at least that’s what it felt like. It was surreal to stare up at the brown brick building and know that this was where Castiel lived, this was where he had sent those messages last night, and his curiosity burned to know if it had affected him as much as it had affected Dean. He doubted Castiel would remember much today, however.</p>
<p>Looking at the row of buzzers, he located 2A and noted the surname Shurley. He made a face, but it wasn’t like Castiel had a choice in the matter. It took about a full minute for the answering buzzer to open the front door for him.</p>
<p>His heart began to pound harder and faster the closer he got to the apartment door. Feeling a little like a teenager going on his first date, he knocked gently, not wanting to make too much loud noise.</p>
<p>A shuffling on the other side of the door, the sound of a lock turning, and it opened… revealing Castiel in a burgundy bathrobe, bare at the neck, with flannel pant legs sticking out the bottom. He was clutching a bag of frozen peas to his head and just one eye was visible, only half open as he blearily peered at him. The poor man looked like everything hurt. And Dean immediately found himself in the unique predicament of feeling turned on and protective at the same time.</p>
<p>“Dude… you look awful,” he said to cover for any tenderness in his expression that might give him away. Maybe he was being overly cautious, however, he doubted Castiel was looking at anything too closely at the moment.</p>
<p>“Mistakes were made, I have the mother of all hangovers,” said Castiel, stepping back to allow Dean inside. His low voice was strained and cutting out at the end of the words. “At least my nose doesn’t look like Rudolph’s.”</p>
<p>“Allergies.”</p>
<p>He nodded and gestured. “I’ll show you the kitchen.” He stumbled as he turned around, his equilibrium clearly off.</p>
<p>“No, you should be in bed,” said Dean, putting his arm around Castiel’s back to guide him. “I can find things on my own, where’s your bedroom?”</p>
<p>The lack of argument was telling. Castiel pointed down the hallway. It was a lot like how Dean had imagined it, with prints of famous paintings featuring nature and photographs of people he assumed to be siblings. The bedroom was small and dark with the curtains drawn, the bed unmade and rumpled. Dean helped ease Castiel back into it and tucked the covers up around his waist before propping some pillows behind him so he could sit up more easily. As he settled back, Castiel immediately closed his eyes with a sigh. That kind of trust was humbling.</p>
<p>First, Dean went across the hallway to the bathroom and searched the medicine cabinet for a couple of pain killers which he brought to Castiel with a full glass of water.</p>
<p>“Take these and drink all of this,” he said.</p>
<p>Next, he went out into the kitchen. After tossing a number of various liquor bottles into the trash, he searched for a bowl and a spoon. The soup was still hot thanks to the thermos. He also looked inside the freezer for ice cubes which he put into a plastic bag and then tied it up in a clean dish rag. By the time he’d done all that and returned to the bedroom, Castiel had finished the glass of water and was resting with the bag of frozen peas over his eyes.</p>
<p>Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Dean took the peas away and replaced it with the satchel of ice, setting it on top of Castiel’s head so he could see if he wanted to.</p>
<p>“I’m guessing that bright light is painful right now,” he said, quietly.</p>
<p>“Mmhmm.”</p>
<p>“Loud noise, too.”</p>
<p>“Mmhmm.”</p>
<p>“Must have been some party.”</p>
<p>“Not really.”</p>
<p>“Open up.”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>“I’ve got your soup here. Open up.”</p>
<p>“I can do it.” He reached out a hand for the soup bowl, but Dean held it away.</p>
<p>“Hey, hey, watch it, this isn’t something you can do with your eyes shut unless you want a bed full of chicken soup.” Gently, he touched Castiel’s shoulder. “Let me help you.”</p>
<p>For a second, he thought Castiel might argue he was a grown man and wasn’t about to let someone who was practically a stranger feed him soup in bed, but then he sighed. “Fine.” It was clear he didn’t have the wherewithal to put up a fight.</p>
<p>After his first mouthful, Castiel wilted, sinking back into his pillows on a satisfied moan. “That’s <em>so</em> nice,” he said. “My compliments to the chef.”</p>
<p>Dean smiled and continued to bring spoonfuls to Castiel’s lips. “I’m glad you like it. Always made me feel better. But I made my own noodles for this batch. Mom used to throw in a couple of packets of ramen when she made it.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure that was adequate, but there’s nothing like homemade noodles.”</p>
<p>“Mouth-feel, am I right?”</p>
<p>Castiel began to chuckle, then groaned and clutched his head.</p>
<p>“Okay, no laughing, got it,” said Dean.</p>
<p>“Why are you being so nice to me?”</p>
<p>“Everybody should have a friend to lean on when they’re not feeling well.”</p>
<p>“But we barely know each other. And you don’t strike me as the motherly type.”</p>
<p>Dean laughed softly. “True… Especially after my little outburst in front of your dad. You must have thought I was terrible.”</p>
<p>“Not terrible. But also, not so… tender.”</p>
<p>He wouldn’t be willing to do this for anyone else, but he couldn’t tell him that. “Well, this isn’t something I’ve done for anyone other than my brother, and not since he was really little. But I feel like you and I shared something important. So, we skipped a couple of steps in the friendship. No big deal.” He paused. Dean knew that AC would contact him later and they would discuss what happened last night, but he still felt the need to offer, “You wanna talk about it?”</p>
<p>“About what?”</p>
<p>“Well, if something really fun didn’t happen to cause this, then usually it means something really bad happened.”</p>
<p>He sighed. “I was upset. I feel stupid now, but last night it seemed like a really good idea to just not think for a while.”</p>
<p>“If you wanted to forget that bad, then maybe it was what you needed, at least for the moment,” said Dean.</p>
<p>“No, I should have been smarter. Alcohol doesn’t make problems go away.”</p>
<p>“They go away for a little while.”</p>
<p>“You just stop caring about them for a little while. And when they come back, you feel awful on top of it.” Castiel sighed again. “I never do this. I used to believe I knew myself. I knew what my future held and even the people who would be in it. But now… I know nothing.”</p>
<p>“What led you to this conclusion?”</p>
<p>He fidgeted with the edge of his blanket. “The man I was supposed to meet the night we met…?”</p>
<p>“Bread guy.”</p>
<p>“Pieman. We… we shared something special last night. It made me… want things.” Even with his eyes closed, Dean could tell this was difficult for Castiel to talk about. A dull red was creeping into his cheeks and he didn’t think it was because of the hot soup. “Things I’d never wanted before in my life. Things I was taught I <em>shouldn’t</em> want. It had me so twisted up inside that I just went out and started walking. Before I knew it, I was in front of a liquor store.”</p>
<p>“I think I can guess what happened from there, based on the aftermath in your kitchen.”</p>
<p>“I need to contact him. But I’m not even sure what to say. It doesn’t feel right to apologize, but that’s the only thing that comes to mind when I try to remember my behavior.” He groaned. “It was so embarrassing.”</p>
<p>The soup bowl was empty by then and Dean set it on the bedside table. “Look, I get that you’re embarrassed, but if you can forgive him for standing you up, he shouldn’t make a fuss over this. He’ll understand your reasons, just like I’m sure you’ll understand his. That guy is clearly crazy about you. So, I wouldn’t worry. He probably isn’t.”</p>
<p>A little half-smile crept across Castiel’s lips. “I’m crazy about him. That’s what this feels like. Insanity.”</p>
<p>“Probably kinda scary.”</p>
<p>“Incredibly.”</p>
<p>“Is that what’s holding you back from running off into the sunset with him?”</p>
<p>Despite Dean’s teasing tone, Castiel was silent for a long time. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone, let alone another man,” he said, quite seriously. “And my family… would be so against it. What if it doesn’t work out? I would be utterly alone. He knows this, too, he wants me to be really, really sure before I make my decision to be in a serious relationship. But how can I be sure about someone I’ve never met?”</p>
<p>“Fair point,” said Dean, meaning it. “Then you gotta meet. That’s the only way to know. Just tell him you want to go slowly so you can figure out how it all makes you feel. He might appreciate that, actually. You might be his first real relationship, too.” Grinning, he added, “Unless he’s married, of course.”</p>
<p>“He isn’t.”</p>
<p>“No? Have you asked him ‘are you married?’”</p>
<p>“…No.”</p>
<p>“Sounds like you need to ask for some more personal details.”</p>
<p>Castiel didn’t respond to that, except for to furrow his brow. Dean’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked it to find a text from Sam –</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>You might want to get back here. Big order.</p>
</blockquote><p>“Shit,” said Dean, putting the phone away. “I gotta go. But I’ll leave the thermos in your fridge in case you don’t feel like cooking dinner later.”</p>
<p>“Hey.” Castiel groped for him, managing to catch his sleeve. Dean took his hand in his, because he couldn’t resist, because he wanted to do so much more. “Thank you, Dean. You’re a good friend.”</p>
<p>Dean bit his lip and squeezed Castiel’s hand. “No problem, man. Hey, if you’re feeling better this weekend, want to hit the Farmer’s Market? I promise not to fight you for produce. Unless you think that might be fun.”</p>
<p>He smiled. “Sure. Text me later.”</p>
<p>“I will. Feel better.”</p>
<p>“Mmhmm.”</p>
<p>Before Dean left the apartment, he went to put the thermos of soup in the refrigerator and found stacks and stacks of homemade cheesecakes. With mango, without mango, with pineapple, with blood oranges, and probably a sheer bushel of Scotch Bonnet peppers. He leaned his head against the freezer.</p>
<p>“His crazy matches my crazy,” he whispered, to quote one of his favorite movies.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I know this is terribly last minute,” said the harried blonde girl sitting across the table from Dean and Sam. Her hair was coming out of her braid in wisps and the dark circles under her eyes betrayed her lack of makeup as well as sleep. “But we only just got his family’s permission to get married, now we want to do it before they change their minds.”</p>
<p>“What was their hang-up?” asked Sam. “If that’s not a rude question. You just seem like such a nice girl.”</p>
<p>She smiled. “Thanks. Different religions, you know. He comes from a very conservative family. Like, super strict. I’m so lucky they didn’t insist on me converting.”</p>
<p>“What made them agree?” asked Dean, his heart going out to the girl. It was so similar to Castiel’s situation.</p>
<p>“He stood up for me,” she said, opening her phone and turning it to show her home screen. It featured her in the arms of a young Asian man and both of them were laughing. “He basically said that we’re both adults, he can make his own choices, but he’d rather that his family be a part of his life than not.” She put her phone back in her purse. “I guess they decided they love him more than they hate me.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sure they don’t <em>hate</em> you,” said Sam.</p>
<p>She tilted her head with an expression that held a lot of doubt, but she was still smiling. “So, the idea is… a pie bar. We’re getting a small cake to cut for tradition’s sake, another concession to his family, but he and I—we’re pie people. We want pie at our wedding.”</p>
<p>“A couple after my own heart,” said Dean, grinning. “We’re in.”</p>
<p>Her face lit up. “Really?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely.” He ignored Sam’s look. “What about a few different mini pies so your guests can choose what they like best.” Sam kicked him under the table, he ignored that too.</p>
<p>“I love that! Are you sure you can do two hundred mini pies in time for this weekend, though?”</p>
<p>Immediately, Dean knew he’d bitten off more than he could chew, but he nodded. “S-sure,” he said, feigning confidence. “Let’s talk about flavors.”</p>
<p>He led her over to the blackboard so she could pick out her favorites. Dean assured her they could do any of them in mini form – just not the White Dream pie. In the end, they settled on a classic Dutch apple, peach for those who didn’t like apple, and a bourbon pecan for non-fruit lovers, but she couldn’t decide on a final pie.</p>
<p>“It should be something special,” she said. “For the two of us to have at the sweetheart table.”</p>
<p>“I’ve just come up with a new pie, not on the list yet,” he said. “And I think it would be great for your wedding. I call it the ‘Falling In Love Chocolate Pie.’ It’s a dark chocolate pie with a heart-shaped white chocolate center, because with love, you have to take the bitter with the sweet.” It was the pie he’d created with Castiel as his inspiration.</p>
<p>She clapped her hands. “That sounds perfect!”</p>
<p>When Dean quoted her a price, she wrote out a down payment immediately then had to run, she had a dress fitting across town to get to.</p>
<p>“Woo-hoo-hoo!” he cried after bidding their client a fond farewell. He grinned at Sam, waving the check in the air. “Good thing you texted me, weddings always keep us in the black.”</p>
<p>“Two hundred mini pies for <em>this</em> weekend?” said Sam, his hands on his hips. “Are you insane? That’s fifty of each pie! We still have to run day to day and we don’t have a team of people that can help us!”</p>
<p>“So, I just won’t sleep,” said Dean, shrugging. “I had to, Sam. She’s in the same situation as me. Seeing this wedding will give me hope.”</p>
<p>“I thought so,” said Sam, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d see the day. My brother and a cake lover.”</p>
<p>“He likes other things, too!”</p>
<p>“When will I get to meet him?”</p>
<p>Dean sighed. “Maybe once <em>I</em> get to meet him.”</p>
<p>“He still doesn’t know that you and Pie Guy are the same?”</p>
<p>“Pieman.”</p>
<p>“Whatever! Dean, that’s messed up. Why keep leading him on?”</p>
<p>Dean wandered over to the register to ring up the wedding order and put the check away. “I just… want him to be really sure that this is what he wants. There are some bridges you can’t unburn.”</p>
<p>“I get that, but then why get to know him as Dean as well?”</p>
<p>“Well, I guess I was hoping that… if he ends things with Pieman, I could still be friends with him as Dean. But then today, I told him we should meet, so that idea’s out the window. Maybe he’ll like me enough as both to forgive me?”</p>
<p>“Dude, you have really painted yourself into a corner. You need a miracle.”</p>
<p>“Fuck.”</p>
<p>Around dinner time, a little later than Dean expected, his phone buzzed –</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: I am here</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I slept most of the day. Thank you for your patience. A friend helped me get through the worst of it and I no longer hate life quite so much. I feel a lot more coherent.</p>
  <p>Now, shall we discuss possibly one of the worst moments of my life?</p>
  <p>Still yours, AC</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Welcome back to the land of the living</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>I’m glad you’re feeling better.</p>
  <p>Worst because of what you said to me or because you were deadass drunk?</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Don’t make fun</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>To quote you, six of one, half dozen of the other. Getting that drunk was a very bad idea. But I also said some things last night that were truly appalling.</p>
  <p>Yours, AC</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: I’m not making fun</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>They didn’t appall me. If it would make you feel better, I could share something embarrassing I did after we said goodnight.</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Oh?</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I’m curious. What did you do?</p>
  <p>Yours, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean’s face flushed hot, but he wanted to encourage Castiel to be open with him without feeling awkward. The best way to do that was to put them on an even playing field.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Not to get too detailed</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>I almost don’t want to admit it, but you really turned me on last night. I had a little fun with myself… Imagined you were with me.</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Oh my</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I would be lying if I said I hadn’t done the same in the past. But I imagine your encounters aren’t followed by feelings of intense shame.</p>
  <p>Yours, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean recognized that someone with Castiel’s upbringing would likely feel shame over any ‘inappropriate’ arousal. It was common among baby gays because even in this modern era heterosexual relationships were still depicted as the norm and homosexual ones were only whispered about, or at best, mentioned in passing. He hated the thought of Castiel giving in to his urges and then shaming himself over it afterward.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Slow dancing</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>Can I ask… did your sudden bender have something to do with the moment we shared earlier? I hope you don’t regret that part.</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Slow dancing</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>It was one of the most intimate, yet saddest moments I’ve ever had. I couldn’t concentrate on work afterward, all I could think about was how much I loved it and how much I wanted you to be there, experiencing it with me. I cannot regret it. But at the same time, it reminded me of how much I stand to lose. I stood there in the kitchen, surrounded by my family, doing the things I do every day, and I thought ‘this is all I’ve ever known, can I give it up?’ I don’t even know if I’m capable of letting go of the automatic shame I get from these feelings I have for you. My estranged brother says it takes time. I worry that you would become impatient or bored with me while I figure things out. And then I think in a panic, if things don’t work out, what would I do? I wouldn’t want to be alone. Do I bother my brother? I don’t think that would go well. Travel and stay with my mother, if she has a spare room she can put me in? They would be the only people I could rely upon for the foreseeable future while I lick my emotional wounds and I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. I want so badly to believe that what we have is real and could be so much more, but what if I’m wrong?</p>
  <p>Yours, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>They were very valid concerns. What would it be like, Dean wondered, to be with each other intimately for real? There was a big possibility that Castiel could fall apart on him, halting all proceedings in the middle because he couldn’t handle it yet. It might be a little frustrating, he decided, but Dean knew that he’d rather sit there and talk him through it until he felt better than give up on their fledgling relationship. Castiel was worth however long it took to be comfortable in his own skin. Hell, he actively wanted to help him get there, even if it ultimately didn’t work out between them. He cared enough to just want to help.</p>
<p>Castiel’s whole world was falling apart around him, he desperately needed reassurance. There was only one thing Dean could say he knew for certain, though admitting it scared him to death. If Castiel could consider turning his life and beliefs upside down for Dean, then Dean could put all his cards on the table for Castiel.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Cards on the table</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>I know that thinking about all this has to be incredibly stressful to say the least. It means a lot to me that you are still considering it, despite that. You think being with me could be worth most of your family abandoning you. That’s huge. So, I don’t care how long it takes you to decide. I’m in this for the long haul. I don’t really have a choice. I’ve fallen in love with you so hard, it’s like I never really loved anyone else before you.</p>
  <p>God, I hope you believe me.</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>There was a prolonged silence before the next message came. In that time, Dean nearly ate his phone out of sheer anxiety.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>You love me?</p>
</blockquote><p>It was like an arrow in his chest to see just the single line, knowing all that Castiel had to be thinking and feeling. He wondered if his heart was hammering in his chest like Dean’s was.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Heaven help me, I do. I don’t want you to feel pressured to say it back.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I want to. It scares me so much, there isn’t anything else it could be. But it’s still so peculiar. I don’t even know your name. I don’t have a face to associate this feeling with.</p>
</blockquote><p>For a hot second, he thought his heart was going to fly out of his chest. It was <em>so</em> close to a confession. His gut was searing with white hot guilt because he was still hiding behind a screen name. Castiel was struggling so much, he deserved to know whom he was talking to. Time to make good on what he’d said to him that day as Dean.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>We need to change that.</p>
</blockquote><p>The next message came almost instantly.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>When? Where?</p>
</blockquote><p>That was when Dean remembered what he’d agreed to earlier and he could have kicked himself.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Ugh, I’m busy this weekend.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I know this is a little late to be asking… but are you married?</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean snorted and decided to tease him a little.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Do you know me at all? Did someone tell you that’s why we haven’t met yet, because I’m married?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Guilty. I had to ask.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I know. And I’m not. I never have been, same as you. But I really am busy this weekend. When are you free next?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I will check with my work schedule and let you know. Are we really going to do this? I feel like I might pass out.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Please don’t. And yes, we are. I just hope it goes well.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Me too. Dream of me tonight.</p>
</blockquote><p>Oh, he hoped so, but he wouldn’t be going to bed anytime soon. Immediately following end of day, Dean and Sam were in the kitchen preparing massive amounts of pie dough for two hundred four-inch pies. Each batch was wrapped in plastic and piled in the fridge like little round bricks so they wouldn’t be too difficult to defrost later.</p>
<p>“Dean, if I don’t go to bed, I’m going to start mixing up salt and sugar,” said Sam, close to midnight. “And don’t blame me for any mistakes on the register tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Go to sleep, you enormous baby, I just want to get one more batch finished,” said Dean.</p>
<p>Sam didn’t wait to be told twice, he added the last batch he’d finished to the pyramid in the fridge and threw off his apron. Dean didn’t look up from measuring ingredients, he was focused. If he could just finish five more batches, they would be half done with the pie crust they needed for the wedding. It was lucky that all four pies shared the same crust recipe and none of them required a top crust, they were all open pies.</p>
<p>Just as he was flipping on the stand mixer, a knock came at the back door, the one that led up to the apartment. Wiping his hands on his apron, Dean awkwardly dabbed at his red nose with his arm and sniffed as he walked over to see who was there at such a late hour. His mouth dropped open when he found Castiel standing on the stoop wearing his tan trench coat and carrying a white pie box.</p>
<p>“Hello, Dean.”</p>
<p>He leaned against the door frame. “This is a surprise.”</p>
<p>“I told you it would be late if I came by.”</p>
<p>“You did. Feeling better, I take it?”</p>
<p>“Thanks to you.” He held up the box. “Feel like giving your opinion?”</p>
<p>Dean gestured for him to come in. “As long as you don’t mind me working at the same time.”</p>
<p>Castiel entered and switched the box from one hand to the other as he removed his coat. He had on dark slacks and a plain button-down. Even without the Daily Bread logo, Dean was reminded uncomfortably of a church ‘uniform.’ Did he not own any jeans? A hoodie?</p>
<p>“This is nice,” said Castiel, looking around their big open-plan living and dining area, done in dark wood with art glass lighting and comfortable leather upholstery. “So big.”</p>
<p>“Well, when you’ve got a brother as huge as I do, you want space,” said Dean, holding up his hand above his head to indicate how tall Sam was. “He’s already in bed, or else I’d introduce you.”</p>
<p>“I remember him from the day we met. He is very tall.” He sounded a little envious. “Why are you working so late?” he asked as he followed Dean into the kitchen.</p>
<p>“We’ve got a big event that we’re providing dessert for this weekend,” he said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen island for Castiel. “I agreed to it before asking how big it was.”</p>
<p>“So, no Farmer’s Market for us, I take it?”</p>
<p>Dean made a face; he’d forgotten about his offer in the flurry of work. “Shit. At least not the Saturday one. I’ll have to be at the venue at probably four in the morning. I would have remembered and texted you eventually, I’ve just got a lot on my mind. Maybe we could do Sunday if you have time and I’m not exhausted.”</p>
<p>“I’ll check. We can also go the following weekend, if you’re not busy then.” He went to sit, but then paused, his brow furrowing. “I don’t think that’s supposed to be—”</p>
<p>Dean followed Castiel’s eyeline to the stand mixer… which was spinning so fast, all the flour was going everywhere. “Ahhh!” cried Dean as he ran over to switch it off, but the damage was done. Not only was the batch ruined, but flour was everywhere. He covered his face with a hand and groaned, leaving white fingerprints behind. “Maybe Sam had the right idea. I’ve got to be tired if I’m making dumb mistakes.” He unlocked the bowl from the mixer and went to dump it out in the trash. “I’ve gotta at least finish one more batch though…”</p>
<p>When he turned around, he stopped short as Castiel had silently come up behind him. With a napkin, Castiel wiped the flour from Dean’s face and dabbed his red nose with a small half-smile. He couldn’t help but smile back.</p>
<p>“Sounds like it’s time for a break,” he said. “Sit down for a minute.”</p>
<p>He didn’t argue. After getting a couple of plates and two forks, he pulled out a stool beside the one he’d set out for Castiel and sat down.</p>
<p>“Maybe the sugar will give me some energy,” said Dean as Castiel cut them each a slice of his latest creation. This one was covered in neat peaks of whipped cream and had a swirl of the familiar orange drizzle on top. When he placed the piece of pie on the plate, the filling was yellow. “Is this a supreme filling?”</p>
<p>“No, it’s still cheesecake,” said Castiel. “But it’s lemon this time.”</p>
<p>“Where’d you get the inspiration for this one?” asked Dean as he loaded his fork with a little bit of everything.</p>
<p>“I saw a video online. It was called Hot Ones.”</p>
<p>Dean chuckled at the mention of the interview series that made its guests eat progressively hotter chicken wings. “I’ve seen a few of those.”</p>
<p>“It had Gordon Ramsay as the guest. I figured if anyone would know how to counteract spicy food, it would be him. He used lemon and lime juice. So, I thought, lemon cheesecake. Then I could use your suggestion of whipped cream on top.”</p>
<p>“Brilliant,” said Dean. “And you could try key lime next if you don’t like how this one turned out. Okay, here we go…”</p>
<p>He took a bite. The lemon was not subtle, it wasn’t quite a pucker, but it did cause a bit of an ache in the back of his jaw, the way a citrus fruit alcohol would. The sour flavor was immediately tempered by the sweetness of the cheesecake and the whipped cream together. He could still feel the heat from the Scotch Bonnet, but it wasn’t nearly as painful as before. It burned, but didn’t bring tears to his eyes instantly.</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s good,” he said.</p>
<p>“Really?” Castiel tried a bite as well.</p>
<p>“Yeah, man. If he doesn’t fall in love with you after trying this, he’s nuts.”</p>
<p>Castiel’s face turned pink and Dean didn’t think it was because of the spiciness of the pie. “He says he’s already in love with me,” he admitted after swallowing.</p>
<p>Dean lifted his brows like he was surprised but took another bite of pie to excuse himself from commenting. “So, your relationship is progressing?” he asked afterward.</p>
<p>“I don’t know. Everything about this relationship is completely new to me.”</p>
<p>Putting his fork down, Dean turned in his seat to face Castiel. “Look, stop me if I’m crossing a line here… but is this your first relationship with a man?”</p>
<p>His face went a shade darker. “It’s that obvious, huh?”</p>
<p>“Pretty obvious. Did you never have an inkling you might be so inclined in the past?”</p>
<p>“Maybe?”</p>
<p>“Never saw a really hot guy and went ‘wow, look at the ass on him’?”</p>
<p>Castiel couldn’t help grinning at that. “Of course, I recognize when someone is attractive, but…”</p>
<p>“Well, what do you think when you look at me?” He propped an elbow on the island and put his chin on his fist, curling his bicep as he did so to show off his muscle. Smiling, he lifted his eyebrows suggestively, doing his best to give a ‘come hither’ look.</p>
<p>Tilting his head, Castiel squinted as if to say he was on to Dean’s tricks. “I think you know you’re gorgeous, Dean—”</p>
<p>“Why, thank you.”</p>
<p>“—but that’s a matter of aesthetics. Something <em>more</em> isn’t anything I ever seriously considered. It was never a possibility. I’ve had a few brief relationships with women and they were… fine. But nothing like this.”</p>
<p>“Profound bond.”</p>
<p>“Exactly.”</p>
<p>“Do you think you might be bisexual or pan?”</p>
<p>Castiel shrugged. “Maybe?” he said again. “Probably not, just based on how I feel about him. When I was with women, I never felt more than physical satisfaction and a sense of ‘this is what is normal, this is what I should be doing.’ For a few years now, I thought I was utterly indifferent to sexuality.”</p>
<p>“Like, asexual?”</p>
<p>He nodded. “But that’s not the case, not with him. Turns out I was only indifferent towards women. Or maybe…” He paused, frowning.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“I’m not even sure if I would have feelings for other men. Maybe it’s only him who makes me feel this way.” He squirmed and wouldn’t look at Dean. “He makes me feel… so much.”</p>
<p>He waggled his brows again. “Sexy thoughts?”</p>
<p>Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise that you think it’s ridiculous…”</p>
<p>“No!” Dean exclaimed. “No judgement from me, man, you feel what you feel…”</p>
<p>“But I’ve never even met him and I’m so sure that we’re—that I’m—” He covered his face, clearly upset. “I still can’t say it!”</p>
<p>Placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, he gave him an encouraging squeeze. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, gently and without any teasing humor. “This is a big deal. It’s alright to take it out piece by piece instead of all at once.”</p>
<p>He peeked up through his fingers, his brows furrowed. “Thanks, Dean. Having you ground me like this… it means a lot. There’s no one else I can talk to about him.”</p>
<p>All Dean was holding back pricked his guilt. “Not even your brother?”</p>
<p>He rolled his bluer than blue eyes. “Gabriel would make even <em>worse</em> jokes at my expense.”</p>
<p>“Well… I’m glad I can be here for you, then, Cas. Anytime.” Off his surprised look, he elaborated, “One syllable. Like ‘Dean’ or ‘Sam.’ Easy to say. Not so formal. Unless you hate it?”</p>
<p>“No… No, I… I kind of like it.”</p>
<p>A little half-smile was on his face, which led Dean to believe he was telling the truth and not just being polite. Had no one ever been close enough with this man to give him a nickname before?</p>
<p>With a sigh, Castiel stood up. “I should go and let you get back to work. If I didn’t have to get up so early in the morning, I’d stay and help.”</p>
<p>“I appreciate that. You could come back tomorrow, if you want. I won’t say no to free labor.”</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s not free. I’ll be bringing another cheesecake.”</p>
<p>Dean chuckled. “Bring it on.”</p>
<p>Castiel shrugged into his coat as they walked to the door. “I’ll try to come as soon as I can.”</p>
<p>“Don’t stress about it, we both have a full work day ahead of us, let’s get through that first.” He stopped Castiel with a hand at his elbow. “Hey.”</p>
<p>With a gentle tug, he pulled him around and into his arms, hugging him tight, unable to resist. Closing his eyes, he took in a subtle breath, using every bit of willpower he possessed not to just give in and kiss him. Castiel was motionless, stunned, until Dean patted him on the back which seemed to clue him in that he should react. Dean smiled to cover up a wince as he gave him the traditional three manly pats in return.</p>
<p>“See you tomorrow, Cas,” he said, trying not to show how much a simple hug had meant to him.</p>
<p>Castiel looked at him for a long beat, then nodded. “See you.”</p>
<p>When the door closed behind him, Dean turned and leaned against it, sinking down to sit on the floor as he exhaled hard. He almost felt sick. Maybe just heartsick. He’d just held the man he loved in his arms, a man who felt like heaven and smelled like homemade bread, and Dean had gotten a ‘bro pat’ in return. It was his own fault, of course, that Castiel didn’t know and Dean deserved to suffer over it. He was well aware of that fact. But it was killing him to keep the truth hidden. He wanted to come clean. He just didn’t quite know how.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: This week</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>Good morning. Sadly, I was too exhausted to dream about anything last night, let alone something that would help me get through the rest of this week, which is going to be hellish. There is so much I need to do, I just don’t want you to think I’m ignoring you. I will be thinking about you a lot, but I will not be able to respond as regularly as I have been. I hope you understand.</p>
  <p>What does your work schedule look like?</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>Hours later –</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: This week</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I’ve been informed that the remainder of this week will be quite busy for our bakery as well. Though I will miss our conversation, perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise that we’ll both be preoccupied with work.</p>
  <p>Tomorrow and Saturday are out. Perhaps Sunday after the Farmer’s Market?</p>
  <p>Yours, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean responded after closing and before going into prep for the following day –</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Soft yes</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>Let’s say yes for Sunday right now, but it may have to change, depending on how thin I spread myself by Saturday.</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>What he really meant was ‘I’m already meeting you for the Farmer’s Market, but you don’t know that and I need an excuse if I chicken out,’ but he couldn’t say that, of course. Dean knew it was wrong to keep lying to Cas, but he still didn’t know how to explain himself.</p>
<p>Castiel was true to his word and showed up that night close to ten. When the knock came at the back door of the shop, Dean jumped up from where he’d been measuring crust ingredients and grabbed Sam by the arm.</p>
<p>“Wow, look at the time,” said Dean, trying to shove his brother toward the staircase. “You should go to bed; I’ve got things under control here.”</p>
<p>“Dude, what are you talking about? Who’s at the door?” He tried to go answer it, but Dean got in his way.</p>
<p>“N-nobody! It’s fine, just someone who offered to come help so you can get the sleep you need.” He started pushing him again.</p>
<p>“Just someone? Dean, you <em>never</em> let just anyone help us make pies. It’s why we run the shop just the two of us even though I’ve begged you to hire more people.” Sam used his considerable height and muscle to stop dead in his tracks, becoming utterly immoveable no matter what Dean did. “Is this Castiel? I saw another spicy cheesecake in the fridge. I can put two and two together.”</p>
<p>“Debatable.” Off Sam’s look, he relented. “Okay, okay… Yes, it’s Castiel.”</p>
<p>“Does he know who you are yet?”</p>
<p>“I’m… getting there.”</p>
<p>“Oh, this is stupid.” Sam took off to open the door and Dean jumped on his back.</p>
<p>“No!”</p>
<p>“Ahhh!” Sam whipped around, clawing at his brother’s arms tight at his neck. “What the HELL, Dean!” he said, his voice garbled. “Get off! You’re choking me!”</p>
<p>Another knock came.</p>
<p>“Just a second!” Dean yelled toward the door then whispered intensely to Sam, “Dude, you can’t do this to me! You’ve gotta let me figure this out on my own!”</p>
<p>“Okay! Just get off!”</p>
<p>Warily, he did so, letting go of Sam’s neck and sliding off his back. Sam glared at him for a beat, then bolted for the door. Dean scrambled to grab him again, but it was too late. Sam had the door open, leaving Dean to finish walking casually to his side, absently running a hand through his hair.</p>
<p>“Well, this is a surprise,” said Sam, his tone exaggerated. “Dean, why didn’t you <em>tell</em> me we were having company?”</p>
<p>Dean glared at him. “Didn’t I tell you?”</p>
<p>“No, you definitely didn’t.” He held out a hand to Castiel. “Hey, nice to meet you, officially. I’m Sam, Dean’s brother.”</p>
<p>Castiel shook his hand with the one not holding the pie box, seemingly unaware of the undercurrent between the two men. “Castiel. I hope I’m not intruding.”</p>
<p>“Not at all,” said Sam, stepping back and closing the door after him. “Come on in. Glad to have you, I’ve been saying to Dean for <em>ages</em> that we should have someone to help us. I guess having a last-minute event to cater made him cave.”</p>
<p>“Sam, weren’t you <em>just</em> saying how <em>tired</em> you were?” asked Dean, pointedly, while Castiel got out of his coat.</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean,” said Sam, smiling innocently. He linked an arm around Castiel’s, leading him behind the counter and through to the large industrial kitchen. Dean followed, frowning at Sam’s back.</p>
<p>“I’m so surprised to see you, Castiel,” Sam was saying. “After what my brother said at your bakery, I wouldn’t think you’d want to come here.”</p>
<p>“My family doesn’t know,” said Castiel. “My father would probably have something to say if he did.” He held up the box. “Dean’s helping me perfect my Sweet Punishment pie. I’m returning the favor with whatever help I can offer.”</p>
<p>“Ah, so you’re the one behind these spicy pies in our fridge.”</p>
<p>“You’ve tried them, too? What do you think?”</p>
<p>“Very different.”</p>
<p>“Bad?”</p>
<p>“Not bad, just different. The mango one reminded me of a spicy fruit and cheese danish. You know, after I could breathe normally again. It really packed a punch! Can I try this one, too?”</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>Reluctantly, Dean fetched enough plates and forks for all of them and joined Cas and his brother at the island. While Castiel was busy cutting up the newest pie, Dean tried to tell Sam through ESP that he should leave or suffer the consequences later. The little bitch just smiled back, knowing that Dean couldn’t do anything while their guest was there.</p>
<p>The three of them tried the pie, this one with a green filling. Sam coughed, much less tolerant of spice than Dean.</p>
<p>“Key lime pie?” he asked, his voice strained.</p>
<p>“Key lime cheesecake,” said Castiel. “But yes… it tastes more like a key lime pie with a sort of cream cheese texture. How well do you think it does in fighting the pepper versus the lemon yesterday?”</p>
<p>Dean shook his head. “I like the lemon. I think it works about the same, but lemon cheesecake is the better combination.”</p>
<p>Sam went to the fridge for milk. “Why include the pepper at all if you’re just fighting it the whole time?”</p>
<p>“It’s about the challenge, Sam,” said Dean, immediately jumping to Castiel’s defense. “This is how pies are created, you try lots of different things to see what works and what doesn’t. When you have a tricky ingredient, you really have to get creative to pull it off. It’s impressive!”</p>
<p>Castiel’s cheeks flushed and he didn’t say anything, but his little smile made Dean feel like he’d won something. Putting down his fork, Cas cleared his throat and asked, “So… what can I do to help you tonight?”</p>
<p>“Sam and I have the crust production covered,” said Dean, slipping back into work-mode. “I thought I could get you started on the fillings. All you have to do is follow our recipes, cover the bowls, and stick them in the walk-in.”</p>
<p>He nodded and began rolling up the sleeves of his button-down. “Apron?”</p>
<p>Dean tossed him one that was hanging on the wall. Seeing Castiel in an apron with the Piehole logo did funny things to his knees and he immediately distracted himself by showing him the three recipes for Dutch apple, peach, and bourbon pecan.</p>
<p>“These can all be made ahead of time and baked the day before without getting soggy,” he explained. “But the last one is chocolate and has to be made fresh the day of, otherwise the filling will get hard as a rock because we use melted chocolate rather than cocoa powder.”</p>
<p>“Have you already gotten your chocolate?” Castiel asked. “I can get you a great deal on it.”</p>
<p>“Ah, you know a guy?” Dean teased.</p>
<p>It sailed over his head. “You know I do. My brother. He could probably deliver it tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Dean covered his face with a hand and didn’t try to explain. “Right. That’s a great idea.”</p>
<p>“You should feel pretty special, Castiel,” said Sam, who had seemingly recovered from his bite of spicy pie. After putting his empty milk glass in the sink, he headed back to the stand mixer where he’d previously been working prior to their guest’s arrival. “Dean never shares his recipes with anyone outside the family.”</p>
<p>Castiel blinked at Dean. “Really?”</p>
<p>“Well…” He scratched the back of his head, looking away from those dazzlingly blue eyes. “I trust you. I just better not see any of these turning up at Daily Bread. Otherwise I might have to kill you.” The last part was said as a joke, but Castiel took Dean’s hand in both of his.</p>
<p>“I promise, I would never betray your trust, Dean,” he said, solemnly.</p>
<p>Dean swallowed hard around a sudden lump in his throat. <em>Damn</em>. Those eyes were so piercing.</p>
<p>“Wow,” said Sam, breaking through the moment.</p>
<p>“Sam,” said Dean, warningly.</p>
<p>“I’m just saying, it’s a big thing,” said Sam. “To <em>never</em> betray someone’s trust. You should appreciate that, Dean.” It was painfully obvious what he was pointing out.</p>
<p>“I do,” he said, resisting the urge to cross the room and throttle his brother, then he looked at Cas and immediately softened his harsh tone, “I really do. I didn’t mean I’d have to, you know, <em>kill</em> you. That was just… a bad joke. I know you wouldn’t tell Chuck, just like we’d never reveal you were—”</p>
<p>“Fraternizing with the enemy,” finished Sam. “We’d never betray that trust. <em>Right</em>, Dean?”</p>
<p>“Right,” he said, shooting daggers with his eyes at his brother. “Get to work!”</p>
<p>Thankfully, Sam apparently felt he’d gotten his point across and stopped needling Dean for the time being. They did have a job to do, after all. Castiel was a wonder in the kitchen. After setting the peaches to boil in order to peel them and soaking the pecans in bourbon, he set up their apple peeler-corer and was able to multiply the recipe in his head instantly to fifty portions, telling him the exact number of honeycrisp and granny smith apples he would need.</p>
<p>“Why use both kinds?” asked Castiel later on as he covered the spiced apples with cling wrap, ready for storage. Sam moved the incredibly heavy mixing bowl into the walk-in for him while Cas took the peaches off the heat and into an ice bath.</p>
<p>“I like using a sweet and a tart variety, makes for a more complex flavor,” said Dean.</p>
<p>He chuckled down at the peaches. “Pieman said something similar once, about how pies are more complex than cake.”</p>
<p>Dean immediately looked up to see Sam coming out of the walk-in, about to open his mouth… but for once in his life, he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he looked at Castiel’s back then again at Dean. When Dean didn’t react, he repeated it, exaggerating the movement of his head. The message was clear: ‘Dude, TALK to him!’</p>
<p>Behind Castiel’s back, Dean gestured, pointing both hands at the floor, ‘Now?’ He shook his head in the negative.</p>
<p>Sam rolled his eyes and gave up, but tapped his watch before going back to work on pie dough. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he meant. The longer this went on, the harder it would be to explain. Dean couldn’t deny that his brother had a point. A big one. And not the one on top of his head.</p>
<p>“I, uh, I was kinda wondering something about Pieman,” Dean said, trying and failing to not show how anxious this line of conversation was making him. He gripped his wire crust mixer more tightly than he usually would and stirred a little too hard to mix in the cold butter.</p>
<p>He watched as Castiel looked up from peeling, curiously. The little tilt of his head just made Dean want to run over and kiss the crook of his neck. He cleared his throat, loudly, and turned his attention back on his work.</p>
<p>“Do you, uh, ever think,” he stuttered, “that maybe he hasn’t met you yet because he’s… h-hiding something from you?”</p>
<p>“You mean like him being married?” Cas asked. “I checked. He’s not.”</p>
<p>“He could be waiting until he’s paroled,” Sam <em>helpfully</em> provided.</p>
<p>“That’s not funny!” Dean exclaimed, but Castiel was laughing.</p>
<p>“Come on, Dean, it was a little funny,” said Cas, the smile lingering on his face even as his mirth died down. “Honestly, that’s the only thing I care about besides the marriage thing.”</p>
<p>“And the serial killer thing,” Dean reminded him.</p>
<p>“I think that goes along with the jail thing, but yes.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure that’s all?” Dean asked. “He could be fat.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care about that,” said Castiel with a completely straight face.</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>“We fell for each other through email. That’s what really matters – he showed me his soul. Think about all the amazing, immoral works of art, the greatest love stories ever told. Think about how many were written by elderly, bald, or fat men.”</p>
<p>“Guys with indigestion.” Dean wrinkled his nose. “Gassy.”</p>
<p>“Argumentative, bad tempered,” Sam added from the other side of the room, going along with it.</p>
<p>“Vegan,” Dean shot back at him.</p>
<p>“All of that and more.” Castiel made a fist near his gut. “But inside. They had magic. And that’s worth more than any external attributes.”</p>
<p>“Wow, magic,” Dean said quietly, looking down into his bowl of dough. “Can’t compete with that.”</p>
<p>“Compete?” Cas repeated, somewhat distractedly as he tried to shake some peel off his fingers, his other hand holding a sticky naked peach. It was charming the way he frowned in concentration.</p>
<p>Dean wandered away from his mixing bowl, completely forgetting they had an audience, drawn like an invisible string was pulling them together. “Maybe I’ve got an ulterior motive here,” he said, teasingly lifting a brow though Cas wasn’t looking his way.</p>
<p>“Oh?”</p>
<p>His quarry didn’t notice what was happening until Dean put both hands against the island on either side of his hips, caging him in. Cas turned within that small circle, arms in the air to avoid dripping peach juice on either of them.</p>
<p>Dean leaned in with one leg bent, the other stretched behind him, arching his back and bringing his face in very close from below, close enough to catch the scent of baked bread. Despite that, he gave an easy shrug of one shoulder. “Maybe I’m trying to throw you off him so I’ll have a shot with you.”</p>
<p>Castiel stared, his gaze dropping briefly to Dean’s parted lips, then he narrowed his eyes. “You’re teasing me again, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>He would neither confirm nor deny. Walking away with his hands in the air, he said, “I’m <em>just</em> saying, you don’t know what he looks like. You don’t know if he’s your type at all.”</p>
<p>“And you are?” asked Cas, turning back to the peaches.</p>
<p>Dean walked around in a circle and dipped his face into Castiel’s line of sight. “I dunno, Cas, am I?”</p>
<p>He rolled his eyes and nudged Dean out of the way with an elbow since his hands were messy. “Cute.”</p>
<p>“So, I <em>am</em>?”</p>
<p>“I’m… not sure I even <em>have</em> a type,” he mumbled, not really answering.</p>
<p>“Everybody has a type,” Sam put in.</p>
<p>“Thanks, peanut gallery,” said Dean.</p>
<p>“Hey, just because you forgot me for a hot minute, doesn’t mean I’m not here,” he protested.</p>
<p>“Yes, what would we do without you,” Dean grumbled to himself, wishing his brother had just listened to him and gone to bed.</p>
<p>“I think we can all agree,” Sam went on, “that it wouldn’t <em>hurt</em> if he ended up being your type.”</p>
<p>“Well,” said Castiel, weaving his head back and forth indecisively, “I think that goes without saying.”</p>
<p>It was nice to know that Cas wasn’t <em>immune</em> to good looks, something Dean had in his corner, even if it wasn’t important to him.</p>
<p>Once Dean and Sam finished creating the dough they needed, they moved Castiel away from the island and to the side counter to work on the pecan filling while the brothers began rolling out the crust on the largest surface area. All two hundred had to be par-baked in their teeny pie tins before the fillings went in prior to the final bake. Each brother was able to create a large flat expanse to cut circles of dough with only a few strokes of their heavy marble rolling pins. Cas wandered over to watch their technique, hauling the huge mixing bowl full of nuts along with him and continuing to stir as he observed.</p>
<p>“Hey, careful,” Dean warned. “No splash zone.”</p>
<p>He took a step back. “I’m just watching the experts. I’ve never seen a marble rolling pin before. Only wooden ones.”</p>
<p>“They’re ideal for pie crust since they stay really cold,” said Dean. “Kind of like those marble slab ice cream places.” His mouth dropped open when Castiel squinted at him, which was becoming a kind of ‘tell.’ “Don’t say it… you’ve never been?”</p>
<p>He shook his head.</p>
<p>“That tears it. We’re going on Sunday during the Farmer’s Market.”</p>
<p>Castiel smiled. “Okay.” He gestured at the island with his wooden spoon. “How do you avoid uneven dough?”</p>
<p>“Slow, even pressure,” said Dean. “Sam, give him the gun show.”</p>
<p>Sam’s gaze went toward the ceiling, but he obliged with a curled bicep to show off his arms.</p>
<p>“Not as nice as mine,” said Dean, unable to resist picking on his little brother. “But decent.”</p>
<p>“Jerk.”</p>
<p>“Bitch.”</p>
<p>Chuckling, Castiel returned to the counter with the bowl. “You two have a very unique relationship.”</p>
<p>“Really?” asked Sam. “I thought it was pretty normal. Brothers pick on each other.”</p>
<p>“No, that I’m familiar with,” said Castiel. “You’re just… so affectionate. I suppose I’m just used to my older brothers asserting their dominance in more mean-spirited ways.”</p>
<p>Sam and Dean glanced at one another. “What kind of ways?” asked Sam, a little cautiously.</p>
<p>“Oh, you know…” he said, off-hand, his attention down on the pecans. “Getting tricked into going up into the attic and then getting locked in there all night. Things like that.”</p>
<p>They looked from Castiel’s back to each other in disbelief. Sam shook his head, grimly, and the message between them was clear. They were adopting Cas. Even taking into account Dean’s complicated situation with him, they wouldn’t let something like this stand. No one deserved to be locked in an attic by the people who were supposed to love them the most.</p>
<p>“Well, just be aware that you’re welcome here,” said Dean, keeping his tone casual. “If you get tired of putting up with crap like that.”</p>
<p>“Honorary Winchester,” said Sam. “We’ll even come up with a mean nickname for you, if you want.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, how do you feel about ‘assbutt’?” asked Dean.</p>
<p>Castiel laughed so hard he had to stop stirring for a minute and both brothers joined in, filling the room with echoes of laughter. “Assbutt?” he sputtered breathlessly.</p>
<p>Dean pointed at Castiel’s backside. “Because yours is so nice, we’ll say it twice,” he rhymed, giving him a wink with a click of his tongue.</p>
<p>“Ooh,” said Sam, wincing. “How about a little more cheese on top of that corn?”</p>
<p>“Shut up, I’m adorable,” said Dean. All he cared about was Castiel’s smile, which stayed on his face even as the laughs died down.</p>
<p>When midnight struck, they left Sam in the kitchen to watch the batches of crust par-bake while Dean walked Cas down the street, not wanting to keep him up too late.</p>
<p>“You didn’t have to accompany me,” said Castiel.</p>
<p>“I know,” said Dean, hands deep in his pockets. “To be honest, I just wanted some time alone with you. Sammy refused to go to bed when you arrived.”</p>
<p>“We got a lot of work done, all three of us,” Cas pointed out.</p>
<p>“I know that too, and trust me, I’m glad we got so much done, but I can’t help it,” said Dean. “When it comes to you… I feel like being selfish.” It was dark, but in the glow of the streetlights, he thought he saw Castiel blush.</p>
<p>“I had a really good time,” said Cas. “In fact, I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun in the kitchen.”</p>
<p>“Then, you’re in the wrong kitchen,” said Dean.</p>
<p>They took a few more steps before Castiel said, quietly, “Maybe I am. I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“Say the word. I’ll embroider the apron myself.”</p>
<p>“You will?”</p>
<p>“No. Sammy’s the Suzy Homemaker in the family.”</p>
<p>Castiel bumped Dean’s shoulder with his own and laughed. “You say the most ridiculous things!”</p>
<p>“Hey, I got you laughing, that’s all I care about,” said Dean, grinning. “I like to see you happy.”</p>
<p>He beamed. “Thank you. I appreciate the laughs. I appreciate everything you’ve done since coming into my life. Like I’ve said, you’re a really good friend.”</p>
<p>Dean couldn’t respond to that, knowing he’d come into Castiel’s life much earlier than he was currently aware. “You’re welcome,” was all he managed.</p>
<p>They walked around behind Your Daily Bread where Castiel’s little blue car was waiting in the empty lot. He jingled his keys in his coat pocket, but continued to dawdle without climbing inside.</p>
<p>“Do you want me to come back tomorrow?” he offered.</p>
<p>“We would really appreciate the extra set of hands,” said Dean. “Unless you’re too tired after work, then don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”</p>
<p>“I don’t feel obligated to help you,” he said, then aimed his thumb at the white building they stood next to. “<em>This</em> is my obligation. Being with you and Sam is a pleasure.”</p>
<p>“Likewise. We’re glad to have you.”</p>
<p>“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. With another pie.”</p>
<p>Dean laughed. “Bring on the sweet punishment.”</p>
<p>Rather than spring it on him, Dean pulled his hands out of his pockets and held out his arms, letting Castiel choose whether or not he wanted a hug. With a little smile on his face, he came into the frame of Dean’s arms and held him tight, patting him firmly a few times and letting his hand linger after the last one. Castiel sighed before letting go and Dean repressed a shiver as it ghosted across the nape of his neck. Goosebumps chased each other up and down his spine.</p>
<p>He waved as Cas pulled out of the parking lot and drove down the street, then he finally allowed himself to wilt, exhaling hard. “Keeping all this from you is the <em>real</em> punishment,” he muttered before heading home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a message waiting for Dean when he woke up that morning –</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: A quick note</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>It is very late… or rather, very early. But I had to send you a message. You are my last thought tonight before I go to sleep. When I wake up, you’ll be my first thought. And knowing that, I go to bed with a smile on my face. I had a wonderful night, the only thing that could make it better is you. Sunday is one day closer.</p>
  <p>Yours, AC</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean rolled over and yelled into his pillow. He wanted to go back in time, go to Trickster, and bash himself over the head for being a lying coward. He didn’t care if the universe imploded because he interacted with a past version of himself. If he hadn’t been such a chicken and lied to this beautiful man, he could have had so much more already and he wouldn’t be torturing himself.</p><p>Maybe. Or perhaps Castiel would have taken one look at him, known his dad basically hated him, and said ‘this isn’t going to work, but thanks to you I’m considerably more confused about my sexuality.’ Everything about this situation sucked and there was no one for Dean to blame but himself.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: A quick note</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>What a nice way to wake up. Though I could think of something even nicer. What would it be like, I wonder, to wake up next to you? Would you be on your side of the bed, hogging the covers? I would try to sneak over without waking you, cuddle up behind you, and kiss your neck. Or would we be wrapped around each other? Who would be the little spoon? Would you suffer my morning breath to get a kiss right when you wake up? Or would we sneak out of bed, brush our teeth, then sneak back and pretend we wake up all minty fresh? I bet you’re adorable with bed head. These are the things I think about when it’s dark and I’m going to sleep and my bed feels just massive with only me in it.</p>
  <p>I’m grateful to be busy, too busy to freak out about Sunday. I am still worried underneath my lengthy to-do list that keeps running through my head. I don’t want you to regret anything. Some bridges can’t be rebuilt once burned. I hope our meeting will give us both clarity on how to proceed.</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>His phone remained quiet after that, but Dean would have been too busy to type a response anyway. Around mid-day, a familiar face came through the door, carrying a paper bag with the Trickster logo.</p><p>“Delivery, for Dean Winchester,” said Gabriel, setting the bag on the counter.</p><p>“That’s me,” said Dean.</p><p>“Twenty-five ounces dark chocolate, same amount of white chocolate, both of Trickster’s artisanal recipe,” said Gabriel, handing over a small clipboard with the items detailed in bold, sloppy handwriting. “Sign here.”</p><p>He did so and handed it back. “We didn’t really get to meet last time,” he said as he headed for the register in order to pay him. “You’re Castiel’s older brother, right?”</p><p>“Older and handsomer,” said Gabe with a wink.</p><p>That was debatable, but Dean didn’t say anything. “Can I ask you a question?” he said as he handed over the cash.</p><p>“You mean, can you ask me <em>two</em> questions,” said Gabe, who pocketed the money without counting it.</p><p>Wow, this guy was something. “Cas and I have talked about your family. It had to be tough, going out on your own like that. What do you think… about him sort of following down that same path?”</p><p>Gabriel’s teasing nature seemed to shift in the blink of an eye. He stood up a little straighter and suddenly, even though he was shorter than Dean, his presence filled the room. Down at the other end of the counter, Dean saw Sam take notice, though he kept his distance.</p><p>“Can we talk somewhere else?” Gabe asked, quietly, though the undercurrent in his voice was tense. “Normally, I probably wouldn’t say anything, but… he tells me you’re a really good friend, so…”</p><p>Nodding, Dean gestured for him to follow behind the counter and into the kitchen area. He leaned a hip against the island, folding his arms across his chest. Gabriel looked around at the organized chaos of the room, but didn’t appear to really be seeing it. His expression told Dean he was miles away, perhaps reliving some memory he’d rather have forgotten.</p><p>“When Castiel told me he was meeting another man, I teased him for it, mercilessly,” Gabe said at last. “Then he told me it was for real. I said ‘Are you crazy? Dad will kill you. Remember what happened to me?’ And then… he apologized. He said, ‘I should have stood up for you. I should have tried to reason with him.’” He shook his head and laughed, shortly. “Only mother had done that, before.”</p><p>“What about your other brother who left?”</p><p>“Luce?” He shook his head again. “He does his own thing, always has. Last I knew, he was running some kind of nightclub in Los Angeles, but none of us have heard from him in ages. I don’t think he cares whether or not any of us lives or dies.” He looked down at the floor. “Castiel, though… I never expected this from him. He was always one of daddy’s good little soldiers. And that night you met, he said to me ‘I love you and I always will. You showed me it’s possible to make your own choices and thrive.’ I couldn’t say how much that meant to me. That it made walking out and the lonely years that followed… all worth it. If I could inspire just one of them to live honestly…” He smiled and it changed his whole face.</p><p>“Maybe there’s hope for the rest of them?” Dean finished.</p><p>“Well, I don’t think they’ll <em>all</em> be gay,” said Gabe, leaning an arm on the island next to Dean. “That would be like winning the statistical lottery.” He turned, matching Dean’s posture. “But yeah. Maybe they’ll figure out that they don’t have to go through life doing only what they’re told. I told Castiel, ‘Welcome to Team Free Will.’ And I hugged him. And I said that no matter what happens, I’d always be there for him. At least, he’ll have that. And a friend like you.”</p><p>Dean couldn’t tell him that Castiel might not want to continue being friends with him after he found out the truth, but he nodded. “So, you’re cool with it.”</p><p>“Yeah. Not saying it won’t be hard on him, it’s never easy to be rejected by a parent, but he seems intent on putting all his hopes on this one guy. All I can do is hope it works out.”</p><p>“Me too,” said Dean. He turned and offered his hand. “Thanks, Gabriel.”</p><p>“You can call me Gabe,” he said, shaking his hand and giving him another wink. “Cutie.”</p><p>When Gabriel left The Piehole and Dean resumed his place at the counter, Sam came over to ask, “Hey, who was that?”</p><p>“One of Castiel’s older brothers, Gabriel. I think he might be the owner of Trickster.”</p><p>“Damn.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Sam shook his head. “You know I’m not into guys but…” He looked off, the way Gabe had gone. “That is one <em>attractive</em> man.”</p><p>Dean snorted. “Wow, I didn’t have you pegged for the small, blond, and feisty type.”</p><p>He shoved him in the shoulder. “Shut up.”</p><p>“Hey, you never know,” said Dean. “You might be curious!”</p><p>“Your face is curious.”</p><p>“Your <em>butt</em> is curious! Hey-o!”</p><p>Their usual intermittent teasing continued and the rest of the day seemed to fly by. It seemed like barely any time had passed before Dean was flipping the sign to ‘closed.’ Rather than relax, however, his work-mode slipped into high-gear. They had a lot of pies to finish before bed.</p><p>“You head upstairs and get started on the Dutch apple,” he said to Sam. “I’ll wait for Cas and work on the other two.” The single upstairs oven could handle fifty apple pies, while their three industrial ovens downstairs could handle fifty peach and fifty pecan.</p><p>“You just want me out of the way,” said Sam, but he didn’t sound upset about it.</p><p>“After last night, yes, I do,” said Dean. “If you want me to come clean to him, I’m going to need the opportunity to do so, without an audience.”</p><p>“It didn’t seem to bother you that I was there when you were cornering him at the counter,” Sam pointed out.</p><p>Dean flushed, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Can you blame me, man? He’s freaking amazing. He makes me forget everything… like we’re the only two people who exist.”</p><p>“Damn, you’ve got it bad.” He held up his hands. “Okay. In the interest of you being honest with him, I will stay upstairs. And if I need to come downstairs and there’s a sock on the kitchen door—”</p><p>“Shut up, Sam!”</p><p>Of course, that thought had him so distracted that he almost burned the first set of peach pies.</p><p>He was just getting into the groove of rotating the baking sheets, taking out the finished pies, setting the pecan pies on racks to cool and getting the fruit glaze on top of the peach ones while the new set of unbaked pies went in – when the knock he was waiting for came at the back door. His heart ensured his feet hardly touched the ground as he hurried to let Cas in.</p><p>“Hey,” he said, smiling. “Come on in, I gotta keep my eye on the pies.”</p><p>“Nice pun,” said Castiel, walking quickly behind Dean back to the kitchen. Obviously, he understood having goods in the oven. “At least you don’t have milk on the stove.”</p><p>“I would have yelled for you to let yourself in, if that were the case.” They both knew you didn’t leave milk unattended, that was just asking for trouble and a big mess to clean up.</p><p>“I feel really good about this one,” said Castiel as he shrugged out of his coat. His eyes were tired, but his smile was bright as he held up the pie box he’d brought.</p><p>“Oh, this might be <em>the</em> cheesecake?” asked Dean, glancing over his shoulder between peeking into the oven windows.</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>“Well, let’s try it.” He checked the three timers before getting them each a plate and a fork. “I have a little less than five minutes before I need to take the next batch out.”</p><p>Castiel lifted the lid of the box, revealing the now familiar whipped cream peaks, but something was… different tonight. The drizzle was bright red and a bit thicker than usual.</p><p>“This is new,” said Dean. The piece Castiel served him was a deeper yellow than the lemon of two nights ago. “What’s the story with this one?”</p><p>“Well, we tried lemon, we tried lime, I thought both would counteract the heat level even better than either on their own.”</p><p>“So, a lemon-lime cheesecake,” Dean surmised, loading up his fork.</p><p>“And that’s not all,” said Cas, indicating the top of the pie. “I mixed the Scotch Bonnet with a red raspberry coulis.”</p><p>That sounded fantastic. Together, they tried it. Immediately, Dean dropped his fork and walked away from the island shaking his head.</p><p>“What? What?” asked Castiel around his mouthful, concerned. He hastily swallowed. “What is it?”</p><p>Dean came swooping back in, grabbing Cas around the waist and taking his hand in his, dancing him around the kitchen. Castiel laughed as Dean twirled him under his arm.</p><p>“That is <em>it</em>, man,” declared Dean, triumphantly. “Do you hear that? Do you? I can hear angels singing!”</p><p>He beamed. “Really?”</p><p>“It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. Don’t touch it anymore. You’ve got it.”</p><p>Castiel closed his eyes, lifting his face to the ceiling. He took a deep breath, touching a hand to his chest as he exhaled. “Thank you… your praise means so much to me.”</p><p>“You deserve it,” said Dean, going back to his plate for another bite. “It’s a masterpiece.” He turned back to say something else, but it was instantly forgotten when he saw Cas wiping a tear away. “Hey,” he said, softly. “You okay?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” he said. “I don’t even know why… It’s a happy tear. It just slipped out.”</p><p>Dean thought he understood and wondered how long it had been since anyone had told Castiel he’d done something well. He remembered Sammy coming home with perfect report cards and their father barely glancing at them. If he’d even paid the barest compliment, it probably would have brought Sam to tears, too.</p><p>He came back to Cas, putting one hand on his shoulder, the other cupping his cheek to encourage him to look up. “Listen to me,” he said, very seriously. “You are a genius. You hear me? Certifiable. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like less.” He squeezed his shoulder. “Okay?”</p><p>Those blue eyes. He wanted to die in them. Castiel smiled.</p><p>“Thank you, Dean.”</p><p>He nodded. “Cas, I—”</p><p>The timer went off, startling them both. Swallowing a curse, Dean hurried over to the oven and removed the two baking sheets. He almost hated that the moment was broken, he’d been so close to telling Cas the truth… but at the same time, maybe it had saved him. He shouldn’t be making it about himself when they were celebrating Castiel’s amazing triumph of pie.</p><p>Before he could even ask, Cas was picking up the next two laden sheets and putting them into the oven, ensuring that not too much heat escaped. “How long?” he asked, grabbing the timer.</p><p>“Twelve minutes,” said Dean. With his head, he indicated the simmering pot of fruit glaze on the stove. “You want to glaze the peaches while I prepare the next dozen pies?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>They both bent over the island, absorbed in their tasks.</p><p>“Where’s Sam, by the way?” Castiel asked at length. “I thought he would eventually join us.”</p><p>“Upstairs, handling the Dutch apple,” said Dean, spooning the appropriate amount of pecan filling into pie shells. “Told him we could handle the other two down here.”</p><p>“Save him a piece of the finalized pie.”</p><p>“No promises.”</p><p>He glanced up, teasingly reproachful. “I can always make you another.”</p><p>“I’ll hold you to that. I’m looking forward to trying anything else you make. Seriously, you have a gift.”</p><p>Cas didn’t respond, but the shy smile on his face was all Dean needed to see. The words ‘praise kink’ floated through his brain and he resolutely pushed that out of his head. He did <em>not</em> need to go down that line of thinking and eventually have to explain a random boner away. It was difficult, however, to keep the fantasies at bay. He couldn’t help it - the vivid dreams had come back last night. Now all he could picture was holding Castiel in his arms and murmuring ‘good boy’ while they… STOP IT.</p><p>The next timer went off, thankfully stopping those thoughts at least for the moment. Castiel and Dean moved as one – Cas setting the glazed peach pies over on the rack to set while Dean removed the freshly baked ones from the oven, Cas then put the newest batch into the empty oven and set the timer while Dean placed the unglazed peach pies at Castiel’s station and then went back to his own to ready the next set of pie shells.</p><p>As they returned to their tasks, Dean cleared his throat. “So… how are things going with you-know-who?”</p><p>“It’s… confusing.” Castiel sighed and gave a helpless shrug. “I just don’t understand how something can feel so wrong and so right at the same time.”</p><p>“Well, when you’ve been led to believe that something is wrong your whole life,” said Dean in a tone that spoke of how ridiculous he thought it was, “it can be a shock when it shows up and feels like a part of you that was missing and you didn’t even know it.”</p><p>Castiel nodded. “Very true. I feel like I can’t live without him anymore, not happily. When I realized that, all I wanted to do was get drunk.”</p><p>“So, that’s what you did.”</p><p>“I felt stuck. Be unhappy for the rest of my life, or abandon most of my family on a chance at being happy.”</p><p>“If those were my only choices, I’d probably pick option three of ‘get drunk,’ too.”</p><p>“It didn’t help, but then, it was never going to. Alcohol can’t make my family accept him or me.”</p><p>“Are you sure it’s him you can’t live without?” asked Dean. “Or did he just help you to make some important realizations about yourself? You might be feeling attached because he’s the first person in your life who wants you to be exactly who you are. You don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not.”</p><p> “It’s him,” said Castiel, definitively. “I’m sure it’s him.”</p><p>“Even when you haven’t met?”</p><p>He hesitated. “Well, I would be <em>more</em> sure if we were to meet. And we will. Sunday. After the Farmer’s Market.”</p><p>“Wow, so soon. How’s that make you feel? I’d be scared to death.” At least Dean could be honest about that.</p><p>“Well…” He drizzled a design in the glaze with his spoon, which immediately melted down into the rest of it. “I know how his words make me feel. I need to know if I feel differently in person. Right now, it isn’t… really real. But if I could hold him in my arms? What then? Will I feel awkward or…?”</p><p>“Or will it be the best thing ever?” Dean suggested.</p><p>Castiel looked up, like he was looking right through Dean, and nodded solemnly, his brow furrowed.</p><p>“Do you ever think about… you know.” He stuck his tongue into his cheek to indicate what sexual act he meant, waited for Castiel’s wide-eyed response, then switched to, “Kissing him?”</p><p>He covered his eyes with his free hand and shook his head. “You’re terrible.”</p><p>Dean shrugged, feigning innocence and probably failing. “I mean, if you’re not <em>sure</em>, the things you’ve fantasized about are pretty telling, that’s all I’m saying!”</p><p>“If I’m going from my dreams, then I’m definitely not straight.”</p><p>He grinned. “There, you’ve admitted it. That’s progress!”</p><p>Castiel stood there and stared at the counter, seemingly shocked at himself. “I… I guess so.”</p><p>“This calls for a little celebration,” said Dean. He paused in the act of heading for their liquor cabinet. “Or have you sworn off all alcohol?”</p><p>Turning a little green around the gills, Cas shook his head. “I’ll pass.”</p><p>“Then this’ll have to do.” He went to their plates and picked up another bite of cheesecake, indicating that Castiel should do the same. When he did, Dean tapped the fork with his own. “Cheers. Welcome to the family.”</p><p>“Well… thank you.” They each devoured their bites to complete the mock toast. Castiel looked up, thoughtful, as he chewed. “Sometimes the family you choose for yourself is better than the one you were given.”</p><p>Dean recognized his own words. “Powerful stuff.”</p><p>“I think I’m starting to believe that. Among other things.”</p><p>“Like?”</p><p>“Like… when someone tells you that you’ve done something unforgiveable, it doesn’t mean you can’t be forgiven. You don’t need someone’s permission to forgive yourself. Or you might find you never really needed forgiveness in the first place. It’s all about perspective.”</p><p>He nodded. “You don’t need permission to be loved, either,” he said. “That’s something that happens whether you want it to or not. You can’t put love into a box and label it and say ‘this is the only way.’ Love is limitless.”</p><p>“I’ve always thought so, too. I just… never said it out loud. It’s a little terrifying to think about, living my life without limits. I’m not sure I’ll know what to do with so much freedom.”</p><p>“I do.” Dean waited until Castiel looked up before smiling. “You’ll fly.”</p><p>The next timer went off and they completed another dance with the baking sheets.</p><p>“So, tell me about these <em>dreams</em> of yours,” said Dean as they started the tasks of glazing and filling all over again.</p><p>Castiel chuckled, his cheeks flushing pink. “They’re probably not so salacious as you’re thinking.”</p><p>“Maybe. Tell me anyway?”</p><p>“I suppose the thing that enthralls me the most… is how real the dreams seem,” he said, a bit hesitantly. “We’re not in a castle or the beach or anything like that, I’m in my apartment. I’m standing in my bedroom.”</p><p>Having been there, Dean could picture it. “Then what?” he asked, trying not to sound too eager.</p><p>“I’ve left the door ajar. The only light is coming in from the hall, one single beam stabbing through the dark. I hear someone coming down the hallway, their footsteps slightly muffled from the carpet. My heart is beating faster and faster the closer they come, but I’m not afraid, I’m excited.” He took a breath, as if just recalling the dream was thrilling him all over again. “All I can see when he comes through the door is his silhouette, the light behind him almost blinding me. He puts a glass of wine in my hand and clinks it with his own—”</p><p>“Nice to know that Dream-Castiel still drinks,” said Dean.</p><p>“Dream-Castiel didn’t have the worst hangover of his life,” said Cas, derisively. “We drink a toast without speaking, then the glasses conveniently disappear and we’re in each other’s arms.”</p><p>“I like that – magically disappearing wine glasses.”</p><p>“I put my face into the crook of his neck and it’s smooth and soft and warm… but of course, in dreams, you never really smell anything, do you? I don’t know why, but I really want to know what he smells like.”</p><p>“And all this without seeing him?”</p><p>Castiel nodded. “I’ve got my hands fisted in the back of his shirt, I’m breathing like I’ve run a marathon, my heart is pounding. He touches my face, tilting it up to meet his, and—”</p><p>“And? Come on, man, don’t leave me hanging!”</p><p>He blushed. “That’s usually when I wake up,” he admitted. “A breath away from our first kiss.”</p><p>“Damn, that’s unfair.”</p><p>“You’re telling me.”</p><p>“Fuck. Maybe not ‘salacious,’ but that’s still one of the hottest dreams I’ve ever heard. Talk about suspense. I hope the real thing can live up to it.”</p><p>“I’m sure it’ll be even better.”</p><p>An extra knot tied itself in Dean’s stomach. “How do you think he kisses? Dry, or what? How nimble would you prefer his tongue to be?”</p><p>Castiel’s face went a shade darker, but he sounded smug as he replied, “I think he’ll kiss the way he writes. Slow at first, building more heat until we’re both melting.”</p><p>“Well then.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, can confirm – you’re not straight.”</p><p>“Oh, good,” said Cas, laughing. “I was wondering! Where do I pick up my official card?”</p><p>“You send away for it and the gay post office will drop it off,” said Dean with a straight face. “They have rainbow colored trucks.”</p><p>That only made him laugh harder. Dean grinned.</p><p>“I love making you laugh.”</p><p>“Why?” asked Cas, still smiling.</p><p>“Because the first time you did it, it had… I don’t know, kind of a rusty quality to it. Like you’d forgotten how. But now it comes so much easier, you don’t sound like you were startled into it.”</p><p>He tilted his head. “Maybe I had forgotten. I’ve laughed more since we met than I have in years. Something else I should thank you for.”</p><p>“No thanks necessary. The laugh is its own payment.”</p><p>The next timer went off.</p><p>“Here we go again!” said Dean as the two of them sprang into action. Between their efforts, they both managed to finish all one hundred pies before midnight.</p><p>“Thank God,” said Dean as he slid the last sheet onto the rack to cool. “I still have a few hours to sleep.” Coming around the island, he pulled Cas into a hug. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”</p><p>Castiel patted him on the back. “I had fun.”</p><p>When Dean pulled back, he held him at arm’s length. “Remember, you’re welcome here anytime. We don’t have to be working a big gig. Hell, you don’t even have to help. Just come by. We’ll miss you, Assbutt.” Cas snorted and Dean wanted to kiss the little wrinkle in his nose. He just wanted to kiss him, period.</p><p>“I’ll remember that.”</p><p>“Let me walk you to your car?”</p><p>He held up a hand as he grabbed his coat. “No, you should go to bed. If you only have a few hours, you should make the most of them.”</p><p>Dean knew Cas was right, but he still made a face, not wanting their time together to be over yet. “I guess you’re right. I don’t want to make any mistakes with the last pie. I just don’t like the idea of you walking alone at midnight.”</p><p>“I know how to defend myself, Dean.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah?”</p><p>Impulsively, Dean grabbed Castiel by the arm and twisted it behind his back. With one slick, graceful movement, Cas reversed them and flipped Dean through the air, landing him on his back with a thud before he barely knew what was happening. Dean coughed, all the air forced from his lungs, and stared up at Castiel who wasn’t even breathing hard from his effort. It was fucking <em>hot</em>.</p><p>“Damn.”</p><p>“I warned you.”</p><p>“That’ll teach me.” He reached out his hand, which Cas immediately took to help him up, only Dean grabbed him with his other hand and pulled, making Castiel tumble down on top of him. Rolling while he still had the element of surprise, Dean pinned Cas down on the floor. “Or maybe I’ll never learn,” he said, waggling his brows.</p><p>Castiel’s eyes were wide, like he couldn’t believe what had happened. It would be so easy to lean down and just kiss him, just once, just a single kiss, just in case he never wanted to speak to Dean again after Sunday… For the second time in as many days, Castiel’s eyes flickered down to Dean’s lips and left him wondering if he was thinking the same thing…</p><p>“Dean?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>He squirmed. “Your keys are digging into my hip.”</p><p>Dean’s face flushed red and he scrambled to get up off of Cas, not wanting to explain that he didn’t have any keys in his pockets at the moment. “Sorry,” he muttered, grabbing Castiel’s hand and helping him off the floor.</p><p>He dusted off his backside. “I take it you’re satisfied?”</p><p>With arousal clouding his brain, Dean looked at him, confused. No, of course not, how could that be anything close to satisfaction… <em>Oh</em>. “You mean about you walking at night,” he said. “Right. Yeah. It’s fine, I’m convinced.”</p><p>They walked as far as the door together where Cas gave him one final hug. “I’ll see you soon.”</p><p>Dean nodded and waved before closing the door. Leaning forward, he rested his head against the cool wood and palmed himself through his jeans, groaning quietly. “Sooner than you think,” he mumbled.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Soon</p>
  <p>Dear Pieman,</p>
  <p>I just got home, it’s after midnight, and I finally have a free moment. This week has been so busy that time has seemed to fly by and yet, any time I think about our meeting, it seems to slow right back down. Quite the paradox.</p>
  <p>I think we could take turns being the little spoon, unless you have a specific preference. And I don’t think I would mind your breath for a quick good morning kiss. There are a number of things I would put up with in order to kiss you. Speaking of…</p>
  <p>If bridges are burned, they will not be burned by me. I am merely making a choice and I will continue to love them as I always have. If my living honestly causes my family to burn the bridge as a result, then I only have one thing to say…</p>
  <p>Let it burn.</p>
  <p>Sunday is ever closer.</p>
  <p>Yours, AC</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Soon</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>It is very early and the sun is not up yet and there is so much for me to do today, but I just had to say I am so proud of you. I want you to always live honestly and I want to help you through whatever consequences you might face as a result. If they don’t want you because you rebelled, then that’s their mistake and they don’t deserve you. Let it burn.</p>
  <p>Sunday is only one more sleep away.</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of the wedding venue just as the sky was beginning to lighten with the first hint of dawn. He’d already obtained permission from the church to utilize their kitchen to make the final fifty pies so they would be fresh for the reception later that day. The tricky part would be tempering the dark and white chocolate at the same time and not letting either of them burn. Sam would come later with the rest of the pies in The Piehole’s van, since there wasn’t enough room in the Impala for all of them.</p><p>The chocolate from Trickster smelled divine and smelled even better once the pies were in the oven. Testing the batter, he nodded to himself. These would be the best Falling In Love pies ever. He made a mental note to send Sam down to work out a deal with Gabriel so they could get all of their chocolate from him in the future. He could go himself, but then he wouldn’t get to tease Sam about his crush.</p><p>There were pies cooling on every available surface when Sam arrived, hauling the first rolling rack carrying the mini Dutch apple pies. It was about as tall as Sam was. “Hey, how’s it going?” he asked.</p><p>“About time you showed up,” said Dean. “Fantastic. There’s room in the final rack, right? I’m guessing the caterer for the dinner is going to need some room.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, plenty of room once we set up the pie bar. I’ll help you shift these after I get all the racks in here.”</p><p>“Great.”</p><p>Dean yawned. The few dreamless hours of sleep he’d gotten only helped so much, but that was just how it went when you needed a lot of fresh pies for an event. The church was starting to get noisier as the decorators and florists began coming in. A rental company was rolling tables into the parish hall and setting up chairs. As Sam came back into view with the next rack, Dean noticed a DJ pulling up in a colorful truck, his rig covered with a tarp in the back. Everything was starting to come together.</p><p>They were still working on the pies when the caterer arrived with their crew, rolling out covered heating trays and a giant bowl of salad then stacks and stacks of plates. No alcohol, he noticed, but then, it was a church. Maybe they frowned on that.</p><p>All of a sudden, the bride came bursting in from the direction of the chapel. Her hair and makeup were flawless, but she was still wearing a white robe that said ‘bride’ in rhinestones across the back. Dean wondered if it was something a bridesmaid had gotten her. Following her was a diminutive, older Asian woman, her hair perfectly coifed, wearing a plum colored skirt suit, the kind of thing Dean would expect a First Lady to wear. Her mouth was pinched and her shrewd eyes followed the bride’s every move. ‘Ah,’ thought Dean. ‘This must be the Mother In Law. Capital M-I-L.’</p><p>“Okay,” the bride was saying, a little breathless, “both of my girls are here, Kevin’s groomsmen are getting ready, the pastor is here, the DJ is setting up, the food is here, the dessert is here, the flowers are here… We’re just waiting on—what? The bread and the cake.”</p><p>“I don’t know why you ordered food from four different places,” the mother-in-law said.</p><p>“Well, you wanted Kevin to have the best, so I ordered from the best pie place and the best bread place and the highest rated caterer for dinner and you wanted a special cake so I had to get that from a specialty shop—”</p><p>“Your guests are arriving; you need to be getting ready yourself.”</p><p>“I’m just checking on things, I didn’t exactly have time to hire a wedding planner.” She took a breath. “Oh, thank God. The bread is here. I need to double check that the seating arrangement is correct…” The two women’s voices faded as they left the kitchen area.</p><p>“Dean,” said Sam.</p><p>He looked up. “What?”</p><p>Sam pointed. Dean followed his line of sight out the kitchen window and to the parking lot where a white van was just pulling in – marked on the side with Your Daily Bread.</p><p>“Son of a bitch,” said Dean. The best bread place, she’d said. It just figured.</p><p>They kept working, they had a deadline to meet and only one small oven to use. He heard Chuck’s sanctimonious voice before he saw him.</p><p>“…just such a lovely chapel, the stained-glass windows are a work of art! Where? Through here? Oh, it’s a bit crowded, isn’t it? You take care of the drop-off; I’ll go see whom I have to talk to about final payment.”</p><p>Thankfully, Chuck kept walking without even glancing into the kitchen. A second set of footsteps stopped at the doorway.</p><p>“Hello, Dean.”</p><p>He froze. What were the odds that they’d be working the same wedding and it was him and not one of the other siblings there? He turned.</p><p>“Hey, Cas.”</p><p>Castiel stood there holding a basket full of different types of bread rolls and baguettes, in a white uniform branded with his name and a logo. Clean, professional, no five o’clock shadow because it was so early in the day. He looked so natural, like he just belonged, maybe he was used to this kind of setting. They were mere steps apart, but it might as well have been miles. The chasm Cas had talked about in that one email, yawning between them. Dean was suddenly seized with the urge to grab him and run away. This wasn’t his world anymore, he wanted to make a new world, just for the two of them.</p><p>The head caterer stepped in front of Castiel and the moment was broken. “You’re the bread guys? You can drop it off in the parish hall, this way…”</p><p>With one last glance, Castiel left the kitchen, taking his bread with him.</p><p>“Dude, breathe,” Sam whispered.</p><p>Dean gasped. “Thanks, man.”</p><p>“Take your breath away?”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>The click-clack of heels coming from the opposite direction heralded the arrival and swift departure of the Mother In Law. “My son’s fiancée is handling this,” she was saying as she hurried past the kitchen.</p><p>“Then, I need to speak with her,” said Chuck, following her.</p><p>“She is getting her dress on. She should not be seen until the ceremony starts!”</p><p>“I understand, but there are other deliveries we need to make. We can’t wait until after the ceremony.”</p><p>Their voices faded. Of course, Chuck wouldn’t care whom he was inconveniencing. The debacle with the white strawberries had taught Dean that.</p><p>“Hey, Sam,” he said, reminded. “I think I’m gonna scratch the White Dream pie. So, no need to worry about getting them at the Farmer’s Market, moving ahead.”</p><p>“Yeah? What brought this on?”</p><p>“I’m just sick of all-white. If I want something that tastes like pineapple, I’ll use pineapple and let it be yellow. I’m thinking up a new strawberry pie, maybe one that uses Chinese Black Strawberries.”</p><p>“Black? I thought that was an internet myth.”</p><p>“Well, they’re not really jet black, they’re more purple. But I still think it would look neat… and it would taste like a freaking strawberry.”</p><p>Sam chuckled. “Amazing. Ordering something with strawberries and it tastes like strawberries.”</p><p>“Heart of Darkness Pie. Because when you cut a strawberry in half, it looks like a heart. What do you think?”</p><p>“Needs work.”</p><p>“Everyone’s a critic.”</p><p>The footsteps and voices were returning. “—I understand that it’s almost time for the wedding,” Chuck could be heard saying, “but if we can’t be paid right now, we’ll have to take our product back so we can make our other deliveries on time.”</p><p>The Mother In Law’s voice was heard following him in the direction of the parish hall. “If you could just wait a few moments, she wants to get out of her dress so no one sees it.”</p><p>Dean grit his teeth.</p><p>“Don’t do it, Dean,” Sam warned. But he’d never been very good at listening to Sam.</p><p>“Hey, asshole,” he said, stalking over to the kitchen doorway. Everyone in the hall stopped dead in their tracks and looked at him – including Castiel from at the very end of the hallway under the arch that led to the parish hall. “Why don’t you give these people a break and do your deliveries and come back for payment later? She’s about to get married, for fuck’s sake!”</p><p>Chuck narrowed his eyes. “I… know you from somewhere. Don’t I?”</p><p>“Oh, for crying out loud—”</p><p>“Wait!”</p><p>Dean turned to see the bride running in wearing a hastily donned robe which she was clutching closed at the neck and in her other hand was an envelope.</p><p>“I’ve got it, don’t leave!” she said frantically, her veil streaming behind her.</p><p>At that moment, a fourth caterer came hurrying through the hall door carrying a tray with a small rectangular cake on it, not paying very good attention to their surroundings, probably just aware that they were running late. The bride squeaked in alarm and tried to stop, but her fancy wedding heels skidded out from under her. In a kind of slow-motion, Dean watched as they collided and the cake went flying. There was no saving it. The nut-covered creation fell to the floor with a splat along with the tray that clanged like a dropped coin.</p><p>The poor bride, from her position on the floor, was horrified. A choked sob garbled up from her throat as she crawled over to the cake to see if anything could be salvaged, but it was far too small. It was in pieces.</p><p>Dean went to her side, the first person to come out of the frozen stupor that seemed to have claimed the whole hallway. “Are you alright?” he asked, helping her to her feet. “Didn’t twist your ankle, did you? Those are some pretty tall shoes.”</p><p>“No,” she said, trying with all her might not to cry and mess up her expensive makeup job. “But… the cake…”</p><p>“It’s a shame, but hey, you said you were pie people, right? You still have that.”</p><p>“You don’t understand,” she said, grabbing Dean’s sleeve with a shaking hand. “It wasn’t just any cake; it was a <em>Sans Rival!</em> The same cake Kevin’s parents had at their wedding!” Her lower lip trembled. “We were going to have them cut it at the same time as us…”</p><p>Fuck. This girl was trying <em>so</em> hard to impress her future in-laws and the mother was still calling her ‘my son’s fiancée.’ Dean looked over at Sam who was standing in the kitchen doorway. “Sam? <em>Sans Rival?</em>” He had no idea what it was, but trusted his brother to know.</p><p>He shook his head, grimly. “It’s a <em>bitch</em> of a cake.”</p><p>The bride did say that she’d had to order it from a specialty shop. Dean looked at the baker who’d dropped it, she was standing to one side with her hands over her mouth, doing her best to look invisible. “You,” he said, gruffly. “Please tell me you’ve got a backup.”</p><p>She shook her head, her eyes large. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“What kind of place doesn’t bring a backup cake to a wedding?” Dean demanded. “Murphy’s Law!”</p><p>“Obviously, we won’t charge you—”</p><p>“Damn right, you won’t!” said Dean.</p><p>“Well,” said Chuck, stepping around the mess and deftly plucking the payment envelope off the floor. “I’m sure you’ll work something out. But we have places to be, excuse us…”</p><p>As he started out, Dean looked up, inspiration striking. “Cas!” he exclaimed, running down the hall and grabbing him by the shoulders. “You could make them a new cake, couldn’t you? A <em>Sans Rival?</em> It’d be easy for you; cakes are your thing.”</p><p>He stared at him with wide blue eyes. “Dean—”</p><p>“Castiel,” said Chuck, sharply. “We are <em>leaving</em>.”</p><p>“Cas, please,” said Dean, digging his fingers into the sleeves of the white uniform. “This means so much to her. We can save this moment for them.”</p><p>He looked at Chuck, then back at Dean, obviously weighing the consequences. He set his jaw and turned to the Mother In Law. “Stall as long as you can. We need a minimum of three hours.”</p><p>“Castiel!” But Chuck was ignored.</p><p>“Sam,” called Dean, “finish the pies and set up the bar, okay?”</p><p>“Got it!”</p><p>Dean grabbed Cas by the hand and together they ran out into the parking lot where they slid into the Impala. Immediately, Dean began driving toward the nearest grocery store, pushing the speed limit as hard as he dared.</p><p>Cas was already looking up a recipe on his phone. “We’re going to need egg whites, cream of tartar, granulated and confectioner’s sugar, unsalted butter, vanilla, milk, and most importantly, cashews.”</p><p>“The Piehole’s not far from the church, we’ve got everything but cashews.”</p><p>“We’ll also need parchment paper and piping bags.”</p><p>“Okay, you get those, I’ll get the cashews, we’ll meet back at the car.”</p><p>“Get them pre-chopped, anything to save us time.”</p><p>They each ran into the store and headed for what they needed. Dean also went and grabbed a carton of egg whites so they wouldn’t have to waste time separating eggs. Going through the self-checkout ensured they were in and out in a matter of minutes and back on the road to The Piehole.</p><p>“I really don’t make a lot of cakes, let alone something like this, you’re gonna have to tell me what to do,” said Dean.</p><p>“I doubt your brother ever asked for this kind of cake for his birthday,” said Castiel.</p><p>Dean chuckled, his eyes on the road. “Not even close. I’ve never heard of a <em>Sans Rival</em>.”</p><p>“It’s a French Dacquoise cake, the name means ‘without rival.’”</p><p>“O-kay.” He might as well have been speaking Greek.</p><p>“You know what meringue is,” said Cas, “it’s that, layered with buttercream and cashews.”</p><p>“Oh! Okay. I’m not <em>so</em> worried now.”</p><p>“This will be tougher than you’re used to, the meringue is stiffer and chewier than pie meringue, after baking it has to be cool enough to handle, but if you leave it on the sheet for too long, they’ll be too brittle. Do you have more than one stand mixer?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Great. Get the cashews roasting and I’ll work on the meringue while you work on the buttercream.”</p><p>“Are you sure? I’m not real familiar with the proper consistency.”</p><p>“It’s easy. Beat the butter until it’s light and fluffy, gradually add half the confectioner’s sugar at low speed, then add the milk and vanilla, medium speed and add the rest of the sugar.”</p><p>“You’re gonna have to run that by me again.”</p><p>The kitchen was soon filled with the sound of whirring stand mixers. Dean and Castiel worked like mad men with Cas keeping one eye on what Dean was doing and the other on the slabs of piped meringue. For the longest time, it didn’t appear like anything was happening, but once the tops started turning brown, he turned the oven off and left them in for an additional twenty minutes to dry them out. When they came out of the oven, they used baking sheets to fan them off. It was uncertain whether or not this cooled them down faster, but it felt better to take a more active role in it rather than just waiting.</p><p>With a large spatula that Dean usually used for pancakes, Castiel carefully placed each rectangle of crispy meringue, one precisely on top of the other, with Dean piping in an even layer of buttercream and a sprinkling of cashews between each one. It was difficult to hurry and still be accurate, but they managed. Finally, while Cas patted more chopped and roasted cashews onto the sides and top of the cake, Dean prepared a cooler big enough for the tray with flat ice packs and a towel, to keep it cold but avoid condensation. Castiel carried the cooler as carefully as a newborn baby and Dean opened all doors for him, from The Piehole to the Impala to the church.</p><p>“You’re back in plenty of time!” said Sam when he saw them, smiling broadly. “They’re still doing the service!”</p><p>“It needs to set,” Castiel explained. “That’s the longest part. We’ll just put it in the refrigerator and hope it’s ready by the time they need it.”</p><p>He opened the cooler and removed the tray to do so. Sam whistled, impressed.</p><p>“I can’t believe you managed that in an hour,” he said, then turned to his brother, “and you didn’t break out in hives from helping!”</p><p>“Dude, it’s not like I <em>never</em> make cake,” said Dean, hands on his hips. “Besides, this was a special circumstance. Did everything come together here?”</p><p>Sam nodded. “Come see the pie bar, it looks great.”</p><p>The parish hall was a converted barn with bare wooden plank walls and painted white sash windows. It was filled with round tables covered in white tablecloths and each chair had a big pale green bow tied on the back, matching the color of the napkins. The center of each table had a small floral arrangement of dogwood blossoms surrounded by simple place settings with wooden chargers underneath. Long strands of bare Edison bulbs hung along the ceiling beams. The DJ’s rig was currently hidden behind a pale green curtain until after dinner. Everything spoke of understated, rustic elegance.</p><p>Along the far wall were long wooden tables with all the food, set up for people to walk in through the big front doors and get their table number as well as what they wanted to eat. The pie bar was set apart, featuring black and white multi-tiered cake stands overflowing with the different mini pies. Castiel smiled at the four chalkboard signs with the names of the pies – Apple Of My Eye, Life’s A Peach, Cheap Date Drunken Pecan, and Falling In Love Chocolate Pie.</p><p>“Cute,” he said.</p><p>“Yeah, I think it’ll do,” said Dean, a half-smile in the corner of his mouth. He glanced at Cas. “Want to catch the end of the ceremony?”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t think we should interrupt…”</p><p>“We won’t interrupt, we’ll just stand in the back and look through the windows. I kinda want to see these kids get their happily ever after.”</p><p>Clearly swayed by the romance of the notion, he relented. “Alright, then.”</p><p>Quietly, the two of them made their way into the back of the church. Two square windows in the double doors leading into the chapel were at just the right height for them to look through and see all the way down the aisle to the altar. What was being said was too muffled to understand, but weddings generally said the same thing aside from any special vows.</p><p>“Dean?” Castiel whispered as they watched.</p><p>“Yeah?” he whispered back.</p><p>“Why was it so important to you to help them today?”</p><p>“Well… I sort of identify with them,” he said, evasively. “They had to fight to be together.”</p><p>Castiel didn’t say anything after that.</p><p>At length, Dean asked, “What are you going to do about Chuck?”</p><p>He sighed. “I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve defied him to his face. I don’t doubt there will be some kind of lecture…”</p><p>“Cas, you’re a grown ass man,” said Dean. “What can he do, other than talk? He can’t ground you; he’s not going to take away your phone privileges.”</p><p>“No… but I’ll have to deal with the shame from my siblings.”</p><p>“Why put up with that shit?”</p><p>“Dean, we’re in a church.”</p><p>“Oh, fuck, my bad.” He gestured at the walls. “Look at that, no lightning strikes. Guess they’re just words.”</p><p>Castiel couldn’t help but smile. “Everything about you flies in the face of everything I know.”</p><p>“Doesn’t sound like you disapprove.”</p><p>“I’m envious. You’re so free.”</p><p>“You can have that, too, you know.”</p><p>He shook his head. “I’m not… completely sure about that.”</p><p>Dean frowned. He still wasn’t sure. “I’d offer to come with you to give support when you have to face him, but my presence would possibly make things worse.”</p><p>“I don’t intend to go back to the bakery today,” said Cas. “There’s no point. And I have tomorrow off, so I’ll deal with the consequences of… everything… on Monday.”</p><p>The day after he would meet Pieman. “That’s probably a good idea. A stay of execution.”</p><p>“I appreciate your offer, however. It means a lot.”</p><p>“I got your back, man.”</p><p>Applause from inside the chapel cut off their whispered conversation and they looked to see the bride and groom sharing their first kiss as husband and wife. Grinning, they both clapped along then high-tailed it back to the parish hall to re-join Sam before the guests made their exit.</p><p>While the wedding party took photos, everyone else would be seated and enjoy appetizers instead of having a cocktail hour. The photographer’s assistant was going around and asking the guests to give a message on a video camera as a kind of watchable guest book. There was also a floral archway to serve as a ‘selfie station,’ a nod to the bride and groom’s modern sensibilities after making so many concessions to the traditional-minded in-laws.</p><p>With that hour down, dinner took another hour, and by then, the <em>Sans Rival</em> was perfectly set. Cas and Dean carried out the tray. One of them could have done it alone, but Dean wanted them to do it together. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time he’d ever laid eyes on Castiel – when they were both holding onto opposite sides of a serving tray. There were tears aplenty as the bride and groom shared their cake-cutting with the groom’s parents and the Mother In Law actually kissed the bride’s cheek. Dean couldn’t help a small fist-pump. He and Cas had saved that moment for them.</p><p>The pie bar ended up being a big hit and all four flavors were appreciated by the crowd. As the room was cleared of food and the DJ revealed for dancing, the bride came over with their payment.</p><p>“Thank you so much,” she gushed, going so far as to hug Dean and Cas. “You guys are <em>amazing</em>. I put in some extra to pay for the cake, but I promise I’ll also talk you up big-time on my socials. All my friends will know about The Piehole when I’m through!”</p><p>“You mind if I take down your info?” asked Sam, getting his phone out of his back pocket. “So we can quote you later and do all the retweeting, et cetera?”</p><p>“Sure! I’ll tag you in any pictures, too.”</p><p>Soon after that, the three of them exited the premises congratulating each other on a job well done, but were halted by the sound of quick-moving high heels. Turning, they saw the Mother In Law hurrying to catch them.</p><p>“Here,” she said, offering a second envelope.</p><p>“Oh, the bride already took care of it,” said Sam.</p><p>“Consider it a tip,” she said. “You all went above and beyond for my son and his—my daughter in law. You deserve it.”</p><p>Dean took the envelope, never one to turn down well-earned cash. “It was a pleasure.”</p><p>“Thank you, ma’am,” added Castiel.</p><p>She nodded and headed back inside.</p><p>“It’s always good to see that not everyone is resistant to change,” Castiel said quietly, watching the woman’s back as she disappeared into the parish hall. Loud music was already playing. “I wish that family well.”</p><p>“I think they’ll end up alright.” Dean took a look inside the envelope and his brows lifted high on his forehead. After a moment’s consideration, he held it out to Cas. “You take it,” he said. “For going above and beyond.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” asked Cas. “What we ended up buying didn’t amount to much.”</p><p>“What you <em>did</em> added up to a lot,” said Dean. “And I don’t mean just the cake.”</p><p>Smiling, he took the envelope. “Thank you. I guess now I can afford to take a cab back to the bakery instead of taking the bus.”</p><p>“A cab?” Dean repeated. He threw an arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “Oh, no, no, no. What we did this weekend couldn’t have been accomplished without you. So, you are coming back to The Piehole with us for beer o’clock. Or, you know, coffee or whatever you want instead. I’ll drive you to your car later.”</p><p>Putting his own arm around Dean’s back, Castiel allowed himself to be led over to the Impala. “I don’t think a beer will hurt.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Cheers!” Dean, Castiel, and Sam all clinked their bottles together in celebration of a job well done. Cas couldn’t stop smiling, it made Dean wonder if his family ever had any good times together. Or was it just the same thing, day in, day out? Do as you’re told and that’s it? As bad as it sounded to Dean, he could still understand how difficult it was for Castiel to leave. It was his family. It was all he knew.</p>
<p>“Don’t get too relaxed,” Sam said. “There’s still prep to do for tomorrow and you guys left a mess in the kitchen.”</p>
<p>“We were in a rush, if you’ll remember,” said Dean. “Also, Cas and I are going to the Farmer’s Market in the morning, so you don’t have to worry about that.”</p>
<p>“I can sleep in? Don’t have to tell me twice.”</p>
<p>“Can I assist?” Castiel asked. “I helped make the mess.”</p>
<p>“I told you, I never say no to free labor,” said Dean.</p>
<p>“Free?” Sam repeated. “You paid him!”</p>
<p>“Oh, right.”</p>
<p>They laughed. The three of them continued to make jokes and chat while they cleaned up the kitchen, prepped pies for the following day, and cleaned up again. Dean praised Castiel’s crust-making abilities, making his ears flush pink. Afterward, they went upstairs to the apartment and uncapped a second round of beers. Castiel, who’d been wandering around the room idly, noticed their DVD collection.</p>
<p>“You have Tombstone!” he said.</p>
<p>“Duh,” said Dean. “It’s probably the best movie ever.”</p>
<p>“Oh, God,” groaned Sam. “Don’t get him started on his cowboy fetish.”</p>
<p>“It’s not a fetish!” Dean protested. “Do you see me walking around in assless chaps? <em>That’s</em> a fetish.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t put it past you if you had a pair, is all I’m saying.”</p>
<p>“Bitch.”</p>
<p>“Jerk.”</p>
<p>“Assbutt!” exclaimed Castiel to include himself in the moment, making them laugh again.</p>
<p>“You want to watch it?” Dean asked Cas, going over to the shelf to pull the DVD.</p>
<p>“Can we?”</p>
<p>“Ugh, pass,” said Sam, getting up from the sofa. “I’ve seen it enough. It’s getting late, we had a busy day, I’m going to bed.”</p>
<p>“Your loss, man,” said Dean, putting the disc in the player. “I’ll go make popcorn!”</p>
<p>It wasn’t until he came back to find Cas waiting patiently on the couch, watching the menu screen loop over and over, that Dean suddenly realized how date-like this moment had become. With Sam gone, the atmosphere had turned intimate. Or maybe he was imagining it because he wanted it so much. He sat down with the bowl of popcorn in his lap, to hide any hard-to-explain bulges that might arise. But that also meant that Cas sat closer to him in order to reach the snack.</p>
<p>Having the movie practically memorized, Dean didn’t need to watch every moment to know what was happening. Instead, he found more pleasure in watching Cas and seeing his reaction. On his third beer by then and beginning to feel a bit warm and fuzzy around the edges, Dean allowed himself to settle down further into the couch, dropping the shoulder nearest to Cas in order to rest his head on the back cushion. This was so nice. They didn’t have to be talking, he was happy just knowing that Castiel was there, occasionally grabbing some popcorn to munch on, his mere presence was a comfort. He closed his eyes to enjoy it better. Maybe it was the beer or the fact that he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep and there had been so much activity in a short span of time that day, but he was just so relaxed… He could stay in that moment forever.</p>
<p>Not really sleeping, Dean stayed motionless for a long time and allowed himself to drift, only half-listening to the movie. Beside him, Castiel shifted closer and removed the bowl of popcorn from his lap, setting it on the coffee table in front of them. Probably a good idea, in case Dean actually fell asleep he wouldn’t accidentally spill anything. Suddenly, he could smell fresh baked bread. Cas was leaning so close! Shifting just slightly, Dean leaned in a little more and let his head fall on Castiel’s shoulder, just as Cas was removing the beer bottle from Dean’s opposite hand.</p>
<p>Both froze. Dean kept his eyes shut, waiting to see if Cas would shift him since he’d only been leaning over to take the bottle away. He heard a soft clack as it was set down on the coffee table. He supposed he could get back up on his own, but… Castiel was so warm and now that he was there, Dean really didn’t want to move. Inhaling deeply, he nuzzled Castiel’s shoulder, getting comfy. Cas didn’t say anything, he didn’t move, except to lean back against the couch again. Dean could tell he was looking down at him because he felt Castiel’s nose brush the tips of his hair, or maybe it was his chin. Either way, his hair stirred with warm breath. Dean let himself relax even further, just melting down into Castiel’s side. Now he could appreciate Castiel’s drunken desire to ‘have his smell in his nose.’ If he could go to bed with the smell of baked goods wrapped around him every night, he doubted he’d ever have trouble sleeping again.</p>
<p>They weren’t even holding hands, just sitting side by side except for Dean’s head on Castiel’s shoulder, but with the warmth shared between them, the room dark except for the light from the TV, it was a moment he didn’t ever want to end. He fought the siren call of sleep, wanting to remain awake for the experience, wishing Cas could put his arm around him, wishing they could do so much more…</p>
<p>Then… a miracle. The press of two soft lips against his forehead. A breath in, a breath out, fanning his face. It was such a light touch, he barely felt the scrape from his five o’clock shadow. It lasted forever and an instant.</p>
<p>A tiny involuntary noise escaped Dean, like a sigh. Castiel pulled back immediately. Opening his eyes, Dean took a deep breath and sat up a little.</p>
<p>“Cas?” he said. “What was—” Dean stopped. Castiel’s eyes were wide, anxious. He couldn’t do it. “Did I fall asleep?” he asked instead, stretching out his neck in the opposite direction.</p>
<p>Instantly, Cas relaxed. “You did,” he said with a small smile.</p>
<p>“Guess I was more tired than I thought.” He offered a sleepy smile of his own. “You make a pretty good pillow, man.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t think so, but you looked comfortable enough. I didn’t want to wake you.”</p>
<p>The movie was ending at that point, so Dean grabbed the remote in order to switch it off. In the blue glow of the stand-by screen, he got up and turned on a table lamp so they would have some light before he turned off the TV.</p>
<p>“So, what’d you think of Tombstone?” he asked, picking up the popcorn bowl and bottles.</p>
<p>“I liked it,” said Cas, getting up and taking the bottles from Dean so he wouldn’t have to carry them in one hand. “It came highly recommended and I can see why.” He paused. “Do you have Pride and Prejudice?”</p>
<p>Dean snorted and motioned for Cas to follow him into the kitchen. “No.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t think so.”</p>
<p>“Well…” He put the bowl in the sink and muttered, “It’s probably available on streaming.” Maybe he wouldn’t mind watching it if it was with Castiel. Returning to him, Dean took the bottles. “Okay,” he said, going to the recycling bin, “I had an idea. We’re going to the Farmer’s Market in the morning.” They left the kitchen together and Dean shut out the lights. “Why don’t you spend the night? You can sleep in my room and I’ll bunk down on the couch.”</p>
<p>“I can’t take your bed, Dean.”</p>
<p>“I just changed the sheets.”</p>
<p>“That’s not what I meant.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you wanted us to <em>share</em> the bed,” Dean teased.</p>
<p>“Dean—”</p>
<p>“I kinda thought I’d have to buy you dinner first.”</p>
<p>“I meant that I’d take the couch.”</p>
<p>Dean grinned. “I know. You’re just so much fun to tease. Don’t ever change.”</p>
<p>He paused. “But I <em>have</em> changed.”</p>
<p>“No, you haven’t,” said Dean, seriously. “Not really. You’ve always been who you are, it was just hidden. The only thing that changed is you want to show it now.”</p>
<p>Cas nodded. “I want to live honestly.” He ran a hand over his face. “It’s the aftermath that scares me. I’ve been trying to mentally prepare myself, but however many scenarios I think up, I’m sure the reality will be much worse.”</p>
<p>“It’s scary for all of us,” said Dean. “You, and people with families like yours, more than most.” He gestured at Sam’s door where soft snores could be heard coming through. “I’m so lucky I have Sam. Sometimes I think he knew before I even told him. I’ve never been exactly subtle with my comments.”</p>
<p>“No, that wouldn’t be like you,” said Cas. He paused. “I called my mother.”</p>
<p>Dean blinked. “You did? What did you say?”</p>
<p>“I told her about Pieman and how he makes me feel. She cried and said she was happy for me. She asked me if I’d said anything to the rest of the family and I told her that Gabe supports me.”</p>
<p>Pressing his lips together, Dean nodded. “Bet she knew what that meant.”</p>
<p>“Yes. She said if I ever needed her, she would be there for me.” Cas smiled. “That’s when I cried.”</p>
<p>All Dean could do was wrap Castiel in a big hug. “I know you’re scared,” he said, holding him tight. “But also, think about what this could mean for your other brothers and sisters. I’m sure some of them are plenty happy with their lives, but if there are others like you or like Gabe, then this might give them the courage they need to live honestly, too. They’ll know they have a support system waiting for them on the other side.”</p>
<p>Castiel’s eyes were far away when Dean pulled back. “I hadn’t thought of that.” His throat moved as he swallowed hard. “I’ll make sure they know. One way or another.”</p>
<p>“You think Chuck would keep you away from your own siblings?”</p>
<p>“Oh, definitely. Especially the younger ones. He’d be afraid of the ‘negative influence’ I would have. I went and visited Gabe when I could, but it was still frowned on. The younger siblings are much further under his thumb than those of us who are of age.” His mouth tightened. “I worry for them.”</p>
<p>“That’s natural,” said Dean. “As long as they know they have an out, that there’s someone who will fight for them, there’s hope.”</p>
<p>Cas gave him a half-smile. “Hope is good.”</p>
<p>Patting him on the back, Dean pulled Castiel toward his room. “Come on. Let’s get you a pillow and a blanket. If you insist on taking the couch, I want you to at least be warm.”</p>
<p>“I appreciate that.”</p>
<p>“Or, you know, if you get cold, you could sneak into my bed.”</p>
<p>“Maybe I will.”</p>
<p>Dean stared at him, then laughed. “You’re learning.”</p>
<p>It took Dean a long time to fall asleep after getting Castiel set up on the sofa. The thought of him lying there, just steps away from his bedroom door had his stomach in knots. He’d given him a t-shirt to wear to bed and picturing him in just that and his underwear was almost too much. He left his door ajar, justifying it by telling himself it was in case Cas needed anything, but then he kept imagining Castiel coming in and stealing a kiss. He was already tormented by the thought of that forehead kiss Cas had stolen when he’d thought Dean was asleep. How would he react, Dean wondered, if he went out to the couch in the dark and kissed him like they’d talked about during Castiel’s drunken adventure?</p>
<p>‘If you’d just been honest with him from the start, he could be spooning you right now,’ his brain pointed out. ‘You idiot.’</p>
<p>Great, now it wasn’t just Sam on his ass, he had his own conscience chewing him out. Not that he didn’t deserve it. But tomorrow was the deadline. Tomorrow, AC and Pieman would meet. He just hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he and Cas would ever see each other.</p>
<p>Turning on his side, he opened up his phone.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Re: Meeting</p>
  <p>Dear AC,</p>
  <p>If you go down Main Street to Kansas Avenue where the Farmer’s Market ends, you’ll run into the city park. They have covered picnic benches near the parking lot. Let’s meet there. 3pm. Since you’ve already had my best bread effort, I’m bringing you the pie you inspired instead.</p>
  <p>Yours, Pieman</p>
</blockquote><p>---</p>
<p>Dean awoke to the smell of bacon and coffee wafting through his slightly open door. It had him on his feet before he was even really awake, making him think of those old cartoons he and Sam used to watch, where the character would float through the air following the aroma of a delicious pie. Grabbing his gray bathrobe off the back of his door, he pulled it on as he went out into the main part of the apartment. The sight awaiting him in the kitchen nearly knocked him flat.</p>
<p>A messy haired Castiel was standing barefoot at the stove, handling multiple frying pans at once, humming to himself and wearing only navy boxer-briefs and Dean’s gray Metallica t-shirt. He looked completely at home, like he just belonged there. It took everything in Dean’s considerable willpower to not sneak up behind him and wrap his arms around his waist and kiss his neck like he really wanted to do. He wrapped his bathrobe around himself more securely to disguise how suddenly <em>happy</em> his body was to see Cas.</p>
<p>“Good morning, sunshine,” he said, his voice a bit rough.</p>
<p>Castiel startled, but then smiled when he saw who it was. “Good morning. I hope you don’t mind; I took some liberties…”</p>
<p>“Mind? I thought I might be dreaming for a minute.” He came over to see scrambled eggs as well as pancakes over the fire. “Damn, that looks good. I need to invite you over more often.”</p>
<p>“I wanted to thank you. I’ve never had a sleepover before.”</p>
<p>“Dude, that wasn’t a sleepover, that was an unplanned overnight.”</p>
<p>“What’s the difference?”</p>
<p>“The difference is, you plan for a sleepover. You get a bunch of movies, eat junk, make s’mores, and stay up all night telling ghost stories in your sleeping bags. It’s a whole different vibe.”</p>
<p>“Sounds like fun. Want some coffee?”</p>
<p>“A world of yes.”</p>
<p>Dean poured himself a cup in his favorite mug that read ‘Driver Picks The Music - Shotgun Shuts His Cakehole’ and sat down at the island to drink it. “Sam is going to lose his mind over this, you just watch.”</p>
<p>“Should we wake him?”</p>
<p>“When the food’s ready.”</p>
<p>He sighed deeply after his first sip of coffee and the world began to right itself as the cobwebs were chased out of his mind. He watched Cas over the rim of his mug and noted that the shirt didn’t quite cover his excellently rounded bottom. Oh, he could get used to this scene <em>real</em> quick.</p>
<p>“Did you sleep okay?” asked Dean.</p>
<p>“Yes, your couch is more than adequately comfortable.”</p>
<p>A part of Dean had still hoped they might have had to share his bed, but he supposed that only happened to traveling business partners making an unexpected stop at a motel whose last remaining room only had one bed. “I’m glad you didn’t have any trouble,” was all he said, “or else I’d have to drag your ass around the Farmer’s Market later.”</p>
<p>“Well, it did take a bit for me to fall asleep. I was anxious about today.” He began plating the food. “Pieman and I will finally have our meeting at three.”</p>
<p>“At three, today?” Dean repeated.</p>
<p>Cas nodded. “At the city park.”</p>
<p>“Wow. I wonder if I’ve ever seen him. He could be Reiki guy.”</p>
<p>“Who?” asked Castiel as he expertly balanced multiple plates across his arms and brought them over to the island.</p>
<p>“The guy in the strip mall that does Reiki healing. Your chakras would never be out of alignment again.”</p>
<p>He shook his head, but was smiling. “I’m getting used to your teasing.”</p>
<p>“Good, because I’m not stopping anytime soon,” Dean said with a wink. “Gotta admire this guy’s timing.”</p>
<p>“Timing? You know we were supposed to meet before this.”</p>
<p>“All part of the plan,” said Dean as he began to fill a plate. “He dangled the carrot, then made you wait for it. Made you want it even more. He waited until you were dead certain there was no one else you could possibly love.”</p>
<p>Castiel’s smile told him that he wasn’t falling for any of this. “He waited until I was sure I knew what I would be giving up. It remains to be seen what I could be gaining.”</p>
<p>“Hm. I wonder…”</p>
<p>He tilted his head. “Yes?”</p>
<p>Before Dean could continue, Sam lumbered into the kitchen in his pajama bottoms and blue robe, his hair a bird’s nest. “Breakfast?” he asked, blinking as if he couldn’t quite believe it.</p>
<p>“Courtesy of our guest here,” said Dean, aiming his fork at Cas.</p>
<p>“Dean,” said Sam, looking seriously at his brother. “Wifey this man <em>immediately</em>.” Castiel laughed as Sam then gave him the biggest bear hug. “We are <em>keeping</em> you.”</p>
<p>“I guess I’m changing my name to Winchester,” said Cas.</p>
<p>“Has a nice ring to it,” said Dean, meaning it with his whole heart. Maybe his eyes were soft as he watched the two of them fill their plates and get coffee, but this time he didn’t bother to hide it. He was so tired of the lies. “Don’t fill up on this too much,” he warned Cas. “We’re getting ice cream later.”</p>
<p>“How could I forget?” Castiel offered the mug he’d chosen, it was one of Sam’s that read ‘Have Courage and Be Kind,’ and Dean clinked it with his own.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Carrying reusable bags stamped with The Piehole logo, Dean and Castiel made their way through the Farmer’s Market that chilly morning side by side. Dean had loaned Cas some clothes to wear since he only had his white uniform and seeing him dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt had made his heart skip a beat. It was the most casual he’d ever been around Dean and it was like seeing something he shouldn’t, a kind of intimacy he wasn’t used to.</p>
<p>Cas helped Dean pick out apples and mangos and all kinds of fruit, squeezing and sniffing to test for ripeness. It was kind of amazing, like they’d been doing this for years. Together, they chose bunches of spinach and artichokes, smelled handmade soaps, and sampled local honey. Watching Castiel lick it off his fingers was a special kind of torture. Cas also chose some fresh lemons, limes, and raspberries to make a fresh Sweet Punishment pie for later that afternoon. Dean’s stomach tied itself in another knot.</p>
<p>Around noon, they went to the marble slab ice cream parlor. Since it was Fall, Dean chose pumpkin ice cream and graham cracker pie crust pieces with caramel and whipped cream on top. Castiel chose cake batter ice cream with angel food cake pieces and sliced strawberries, also with whipped cream. Dean shook his head, but didn’t say anything since it was mostly at himself. He’d fallen in love with a cake man. He liked pie as well, but still. Wonders would never cease.</p>
<p>They went back to the Impala to eat so they could drop off their groceries and run the heater. “Ice cream in the Fall,” said Dean as he adjusted the temperature. “Maybe not the best. It’s much more satisfying in the Summer.”</p>
<p>“It’s still delicious,” said Cas with his mouth full.</p>
<p>“And a good excuse to cuddle,” said Dean, lifting his brows. When Castiel gave him a sidelong look, he added, “Huddling for warmth is scientifically proven!”</p>
<p>“That’s when you’re naked.”</p>
<p>“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he said, making like he was going to unbutton his shirt.</p>
<p>Cas chuckled. “Do you always flirt so shamelessly?”</p>
<p>“Only with people I like.”</p>
<p>“It might not work out so well if your significant other was the jealous type.”</p>
<p>“I never flirt seriously when I’m in a relationship, I reserve my comments for just them,” said Dean. “And I make sure I keep them happy in other ways. Not just screwing them rotten, either. I read about the love languages.”</p>
<p>“You did?”</p>
<p>“Well… no,” he admitted. “I don’t have a whole lot of time for reading. I’ve been meaning to listen to more audio books, but in this case, Sam told me about them. He likes Words and Quality Time, so I learned to talk about feelings more. Took me a long ass time before it didn’t feel incredibly awkward and I still make jokes when things get too feels-y. In fact, that might be how we came up with the Jerk-Bitch routine.”</p>
<p>“What are your languages?”</p>
<p>“Touch is definitely my number one,” he said. “Then probably either Acts of Service or Quality Time. What are yours?”</p>
<p>“I know how to speak them all. That’s kind of what happens when you have such a large family.”</p>
<p>“Well, okay, sure, but do you have any personal preferences?”</p>
<p>“Possibly Acts of Service. But Touch is nice, too. A lot can be said with a touch.”</p>
<p>“Buddy, you ain’t just whistling Dixie.”</p>
<p>Setting his empty ice cream container on the dashboard, Cas half-turned in the passenger seat to look at Dean. “What were you going to say at breakfast before Sam came in?”</p>
<p>He scraped the bottom of his Styrofoam bowl, avoiding Castiel’s eyes. “Oh, you know… I was just thinking about a bunch of ‘what ifs.’”</p>
<p>“What if what?”</p>
<p>“What if… you and Pieman had never messaged each other, what if you and I had met and become friends somehow,” he said, setting his empty bowl aside. “What if I didn’t run The Piehole and you didn’t work at Daily Bread and we weren’t professional rivals, what if we were just two guys who were attracted to one another—”</p>
<p>“Dean—”</p>
<p>He rushed on, unable to stop now that it was coming out. “What if I’d given you my number? Would you have called me? Would I have asked you to coffee? To dinner? A movie? Would I have played it cool and waited a day to get back to you or would I have texted you that night like an idiot to tell you how much I loved spending time with you?” He turned and looked at Cas then, yearning for him, willing him to understand just how much he was saying, hoping with all his soul that he could forgive Dean’s utter lack of talent in affairs of the heart. “How long would it take before I was hopelessly in love with you and dreaming about ring shopping, picturing our future together, what our happily ever after might look like?”</p>
<p>Castiel’s brows were drawn together, his expression uncertain, his eyes the color of a cloudless sky. “Dean,” he repeated, softly.</p>
<p>“I should drive you to your car,” he said, putting his hands on the wheel, but he didn’t move to turn the ignition. “You need time to make your pie.”</p>
<p>Neither of them moved. It was all Dean could do not to slide across the bench seat and take Cas in his arms. He waited, to see if Cas would say something, if he would put things together and guess or accuse, but at long last he just shook his head.</p>
<p>“I really do need to go,” Cas said, almost apologetically.</p>
<p>“Okay,” said Dean. And he turned the key, firing up Baby’s engine.</p>
<p>They drove to Your Daily Bread in silence, but the air was thick with all they could have said and didn’t. When they pulled up alongside Castiel’s car, Dean impulsively caught his sleeve before he could exit the Impala with his bag of produce.</p>
<p>“Hey,” he said. “You really forgave him completely for standing you up?”</p>
<p>“I did.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad you’re the forgiving sort. I hope that never changes.”</p>
<p>He nodded. “See you, Dean.”</p>
<p>“See you.”</p>
<p>Dean pulled out of the parking lot without waiting to watch Castiel drive off. He headed back to The Piehole to bake one last Falling In Love pie and to change his clothes. He had an appointment to keep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is NSFW! If you want to skip that part, just stop reading once they go back to The Piehole.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean put on a black button-down shirt that would hide any unsightly sweat that might occur and his nicest jeans. He chose the jacket that made his green eyes stand out and brushed his teeth. He made sure his hair looked good, standing up at all the right angles. He took a deep breath, looking at himself in the mirror, and swallowed hard. It was time to face the music.</p><p>He grabbed the box holding the Falling In Love pie he’d made an hour before along with his phone, wallet, and keys. He didn’t stop to check in with Sam downstairs before leaving, he didn’t think he could handle any brotherly ribbing at this point, he just wanted to go and get this over with. Part of his heart still held a spark of hope that Castiel might forgive him, the rest of him – the realist – told him not to let that hope flare too bright. That if this was going to be the worst day of his life, best to rip the bandage off and have done with it. At least there would be no more lies between them and no more guilt.</p><p>Driving down the street, he saw the final stragglers at the Farmer’s Market packing up to go home. If Castiel never wanted to see him again, would they ever run into each other there? Would they pass each other by like strangers, pretending there had never been a time when they had been in love? Or… would they always go there together, like they had that morning? Would they hold hands as they wandered the stacks of fruit and vegetables, shocking the conservatives they passed along the way?</p><p>His heart began to pound faster and faster the closer he came to the park, but he didn’t stop, didn’t turn around. No matter how hard this was for him, Castiel was doing something even harder and Dean owed it to him to be honest.</p><p>Pulling into the parking lot, Dean switched off the motor, but left the car running. When he looked over at the covered picnic tables, he could see a lone figure seated at one of them, facing the opposite direction, wearing a tan trench coat, a small white box next to him on the table. Though Dean couldn’t see his face, there could be no doubt who it was. He appeared to be watching a small family playing on the playground equipment while he waited.</p><p>With a deep breath, Dean reached for the center console where he’d placed a special mixtape. Inserting it into Baby’s tape deck, the opening notes of Nothing Else Matters began to play while Dean got out of the car. As the music reached him, Castiel straightened. He turned, rising from the bench. He saw Dean standing there with the box of pie. And as they came toward one another, closing the gap between them, those blue eyes filled with tears.</p><p>“Don’t cry, Angel Cakes,” Dean said, gently reaching out and cupping Castiel’s cheek, brushing a fallen tear away with his thumb. “Please, don’t cry.”</p><p>He reached for the box and lifted the lid, a watery sound that was half a laugh, half a sob escaped him when he saw a bigger version of the same chocolate pies from the wedding. “I knew it was you,” said Cas, his voice breaking. “It had to be you.”</p><p>Dean’s eyes went wide. “How did you know?”</p><p>He shook his head. “It was a million little things. But it wasn’t until yesterday that I knew for sure.”</p><p>“What clued you in?”</p><p>“You said that cakes were my thing and I’d only ever talked to Pieman about that. Then I mentioned your brother asking you to make him a cake every year for his birthday, and it wasn’t you who had told me that, it was Pieman. The rest of the pieces fell into place.”</p><p>Dean flushed pink. He’d been so distracted by the high-stress situation, he hadn’t been thinking about what he’d written as Pieman and what he’d said as himself. “Is that why you stole a kiss yesterday?”</p><p>His mouth dropped open. “I thought you were asleep!”</p><p>“I wouldn’t have missed out on that.”</p><p>It was Castiel’s turn to blush. “I couldn’t help myself. You looked so… beautiful.”</p><p>Flustered, he couldn’t say anything to that, even to thank him. “Are you angry with me?”</p><p>“I was, at least at first,” Castiel admitted. “But I understand why you pulled back. I don’t understand why you wanted to be friends as yourself, if your feelings didn’t change.”</p><p>“They did change,” said Dean. “They got stronger. I wanted to give you time to think… but I couldn’t stay away. At first, I thought if you didn’t want more from Pieman, you might be willing to stay friends with Dean, but that was before I decided that you deserved to know the truth no matter what happened. Was that wrong? Should I have left you alone?”</p><p>“I’m glad you didn’t,” said Cas. “You helped me to make my decision.”</p><p>“I was afraid you might think I was manipulating you.”</p><p>“Never. You never did that,” he said, adamant. “You gave me your opinion, yes, but you never told me what to think or what to do. For that and for so many other reasons, I…” His breath hitched and Dean’s heart skipped a beat. “I love—I love you!”</p><p>Dean set the pie box on the ground in a flash so he had both hands free, then Castiel was in his arms, his head tilted just so. When Dean closed that tiny distance and pressed his lips to Castiel’s, the spark of connection was instantaneous, and Cas breathed in sharply through his nose. He melted into Dean, fisting his hands into the back of Dean’s jacket like he was holding on for dear life. When they parted, breath coming fast, Dean cradled Castiel’s face in his hands like he was holding something incredibly precious, like he held the whole world.</p><p>“I love you so damn much,” said Dean, breathlessly.</p><p>Castiel smiled, tears overflowing. “Dean!” he said, like it meant everything to him, that just saying his name was such a pleasure.</p><p>He kissed Cas again, because he had to, he needed to, just to convince himself that this was real, that it was theirs. Daring to test things further, he touched Castiel’s upper lip with his tongue, begging him without words to open his mouth. Tentatively, Cas did so, returning that soft pressure and teasing him with uncertain touches as he learned what kissing Dean was like. Dean groaned deep in his throat as arousal stabbed him hard in the gut.</p><p>When they finally stopped, Dean leaned his forehead against Castiel’s, keeping his eyes shut as he just tried to get his breathing under control. Cas was still holding him like he never wanted to let go, struggling just as much to breathe normally.</p><p>“Dean?” he said, softly, when he was able.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“That’s not your keys, is it.”</p><p>It wasn’t a question and that alone made Dean laugh. “No.”</p><p>“Can—can we—go… somewhere?”</p><p>“Mm.” Dean bit his lip, trying not to pass right out, hardly daring to believe that he heard Cas correctly. “Grab that pie and we’ll go.”</p><p>He drove as fast as possible back to The Piehole, practically vibrating with nerves. Every red light seemed to take twice as long. When Dean finally exploded with “Ah, come on!” and hit the steering wheel with his left fist, Castiel reached over and put his hand on top of Dean’s right, where it was resting on the stick shift. Lifting it, he brought it to his lips, kissing Dean’s fingers and compounding the problem he was facing with his decidedly tight jeans.</p><p>“You are killing me over here, man,” he groaned. “You’re lucky it’s broad daylight and I can’t just pull over and throw you in the back seat.”</p><p>Cas blushed. “I can’t help myself. Now that I can touch you as much as I like, I want to.” He paused, glancing over. “That’s alright, isn’t it?”</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>. Yes, it’s more than alright, but this light better hurry the hell up.”</p><p>“We have all day; this isn’t a race.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I want to touch as much as I like, too.” Awkwardly, he gave a slight nod in Castiel’s direction. “As… long as you’re okay with it. I didn’t exactly ask if I could, you know, kiss you earlier.”</p><p>“I don’t believe I protested.”</p><p>“Just making sure we’re on the same page. That’s important.”</p><p>“Thank you, Dean.”</p><p>“Finally!” Baby’s engine roared as the light turned green and Dean floored the gas.</p><p>He parked around back and grabbed Castiel’s hand as they hurried up the back stairs to the apartment. Sam was running things downstairs for the day, so they were unlikely to be interrupted anytime soon. Once they were inside, Dean pressed Cas up against the door, his one free hand sliding through his dark hair to give him a quick, but fierce kiss. He smiled when Cas chased his lips as he pulled away.</p><p>“Pie,” he said, holding out his hand. When Castiel handed the Sweet Punishment over, Dean jogged to the kitchen and deposited both boxes into the fridge, then went back, kissing him again before taking Cas by the hands and backing up toward his bedroom.</p><p>“We could have just left the pies,” said Cas.</p><p>“I never waste good pie,” said Dean. “Even when there are pressing matters to take care of.”</p><p>Closing the door after them, Dean grabbed Castiel by the lapels of his trench coat and gently pulled him in, kissing him slowly, smiling against his lips when Cas opened his mouth at once. While Dean distracted him with his tongue, he eased the coat from Castiel’s shoulders, letting it fall.</p><p>“Okay,” said Dean, cupping Castiel’s face for his undivided attention. “This is where you have some decisions to make.”</p><p>“Decisions?” The concept seemed to be floating out of his reach at the moment.</p><p>“What do you want from me?”</p><p>“Oh.” Cas licked his lips. “Everything.”</p><p>“That’s pretty broad,” said Dean, but he couldn’t help smiling. “Everything, kissing? Everything, touching? How far do you want this to go?” He ran his hands from his face to his shoulders and down Castiel’s arms, threading their hands together. “Because I want things. And I know it’s all new to you. I want you to want it, too.”</p><p>He blinked a few times and Dean could tell he was trying hard to concentrate. “It’s difficult to give informed consent when I don’t know what I’m consenting to,” Cas said finally.</p><p>“Okay,” he said, with a nod. “Then we’ll take it real slow. And we can stop anytime. I mean that. Anytime you want, just tell me.”</p><p>Cas nodded. “Can I undress you?”</p><p>“Fuck, yes.” He ran a finger under the lapel of his suit jacket. “Can I undress you, too? You’ve got a lot of layers on.”</p><p>“I wanted to look good for you.”</p><p>“Cas, you always look good.” Hooking a finger into the knot of Castiel’s blue and white striped tie, Dean pulled it loose, dragging it free of his collar. “We good?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He reached for the buttons of Dean’s shirt just as Dean reached for his. Once they were both unbuttoned, they shrugged out of their jackets and button-downs at the same time. Dean chuckled when he saw that Cas was wearing the Metallica t-shirt he’d given him to wear last night.</p><p>“I’m guessing I’m not getting that shirt back,” said Dean.</p><p>Cas looked a little sheepish. “I like this band,” he said.</p><p>“Have you even heard any of their other songs?”</p><p>“…no.”</p><p>Dean grinned. “Don’t worry. That’ll change. Keep the shirt. It looks good on you.” Grasping the sides of it, he pulled to untuck it from Castiel’s trousers. “But it’s coming off now.”</p><p>Returning the favor, Cas also pulled Dean’s undershirt over his head. They stood there for a long moment, just looking at each other. There was a lot to appreciate… Castiel wasn’t massively built or Dorito-shaped, but he had very nicely muscled arms and gently sloped abs leading up to a well-formed chest.</p><p>“See anything you like?” Dean asked, holding his arms slightly away from himself.</p><p>“Oh, yes.”</p><p>When he just stood there looking, Dean took hold of Castiel’s wrist and brought his shaking hand to his chest. His touch was feather-light, exploring his abs and traveling up to lie flat between his pectorals.</p><p>“Your heart is beating so fast,” said Cas.</p><p>Dean nodded. “This is a big deal for me, too.”</p><p>Castiel reached for Dean’s hand and rested it on his chest, letting him feel his own racing heartbeat. “We’re the same.”</p><p>Smiling, Dean gathered Cas close, cupping the back of his head and tilting his own to the side, presenting his neck. “I believe I owe you something,” he said. “Breathe.”</p><p>Wrapping his arms around Dean’s back, Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s collarbone, taking in a deep breath with his nose against his neck. He let it out on a sigh, his mouth open, his breath hot, and all Dean wanted to do was have him make that sound again.</p><p>“Vanilla…” said Cas, his voice low and dream-like. “Brown sugar. Dark chocolate. You smell sweet. Like cookies.”</p><p>“Not pie?”</p><p>“No. Mmm…” He let his nose move down to Dean’s shoulder. “Not just any cookies. Warm, rich, chocolate chip cookies… and something else that’s just sexy.”</p><p>“I smell like cookies and sex?”</p><p>Castiel chuckled, darkly. “Yes, you do.” Dean shivered as Cas ran his hands down his back. “Like having sex in a kitchen while you’re feeding me the best chocolate chip cookies ever.”</p><p>“Damn. I smell hot.”</p><p>He dipped his head to kiss Castiel below his ear. The hands kept going, moving over Dean’s jeans and cupping his ass, and since Cas was being braver with his explorations, Dean let himself scrape his bottom teeth over Castiel’s pulse point, licking a line up the column of his neck. Cas moaned, squeezing tight and bringing Dean closer. He gasped as their lower bodies came into contact.</p><p>“You feel that?” asked Dean, his voice rough.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Still good?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Keep going?”</p><p>In answer, Cas reached for Dean’s belt, fingers fumbling to undo the buckle then the buttons and zipper. While he worked on that, Dean managed Castiel’s belt and the much easier hook keeping his trousers closed.</p><p>“We’ve got shoes to worry about, let’s sit down,” Dean pointed out.</p><p>Cas seemed reluctant to let go of Dean, but followed the direction. They sat down on Dean’s bed, side by side, and removed their own shoes and socks, the pants following quickly after. Seeing Dean in his underwear, Cas swallowed hard and lunged, kissing him desperately. Dean brought his arms around him, kissing him back enthusiastically, scooting back little by little and encouraging Cas to come with him until he was leaning against the headboard. Hooking one hand behind Castiel’s knee, he pulled until Cas was straddling his lap. Just two thin layers of cotton separated them from further intimate contact.</p><p>“How you doing, Cas?” asked Dean, bringing his hands to Castiel’s waist and running them up and down his sides.</p><p>He took a deep breath. “Good.”</p><p>“Still want more?”</p><p>He nodded, but didn’t elaborate. Dean guessed that he wasn’t sure what should happen.</p><p>“Can I… play with you for a bit?” he asked, feeling his face heat up, but he forced himself to keep looking Cas in the eye. “You can stop me anytime.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Sitting up, Dean brought his arms around Cas and kissed him as they turned, lying Castiel down on his back, propped up slightly by the pillows. Dean kissed along Castiel’s jaw, his five o’clock shadow scraping his lips like fine granular sugar, down his neck to where it met his shoulder. When Cas moaned, Dean lingered there for a moment, swirling his tongue to see if he could illicit more delicious sounds. Further teasing with his teeth produced a pulse down below. Oh, that was a <em>very</em> good sign.</p><p>After sucking briefly at the spot that had given such a favorable reaction, enough to leave a tiny red mark, Dean continued his lazy exploration with his mouth, kissing along Castiel’s collarbone and moving down his chest. Looking up to watch his reaction, Dean circled Castiel’s flat, male nipples with his tongue and blew a gentle breath, making them tighten into tiny points. Cas gasped, his fingers clenching in the comforter he was lying on. He didn’t ask to stop, so Dean kept going, kissing down his abdomen, briefly dipping his tongue into Castiel’s navel and getting a soft laugh in response. Coming back up, he kissed Cas deeply, sucking his tongue and running his own along the roof of Castiel’s mouth all while letting the fingers of his right hand skim back down the path he’d previously explored. He rested his hand flat on Castiel’s abdomen and slid his fingers underneath the band of his boxer-briefs.</p><p>Cas gasped, his neck and back arching up, as Dean encircled him with a gentle hand. He was hard and thick, the skin satiny-soft. With an experimental squeeze, it gave an answering pulse and Cas gasped again. Groaning, Dean pressed his forehead against the side of Castiel’s face.</p><p>“God, Cas,” Dean whispered, hardly able to breathe. “You feel so good…”</p><p>Turning his face toward Dean, Castiel kissed him rather than speak. Dean continued to slowly stroke him, his movements hampered by the tightness of the underwear. When he felt a bead of moisture leak from the tip, he pulled back enough to ask,</p><p>“Can I taste you?”</p><p>Castiel whimpered and bit his lip, his eyes shut tight.</p><p>“Cas, look at me,” Dean pleaded, waiting until he did so and could see the conflict within the blue. “It’s okay to want this.” He stroked him again and Castiel shook from head to toe. “It’s okay to want to stop.”</p><p>He covered Dean’s hand with his own, over his underwear. “Don’t stop.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Please.” His voice was shaking. “I want this.”</p><p>“Oh, sweetheart.” Dean’s heart was bursting with love for this man, who was struggling internally so much but still wanted to be with him. “Tell me if it’s too much.”</p><p>He nodded and Dean kissed him again as he maneuvered himself up on his knees. When he reached for the waistband, carefully pulling the underwear up and over, Cas assisted him by lifting his bottom in order to take them off completely. Dean knelt between Castiel’s legs, kissing his thighs and stroking his hips, waiting for him to relax a bit before licking a stripe along the underside of Castiel’s cock.</p><p>His knees instinctively rose off the bed as Cas made a high sound in the back of his throat. Resting one of his hands on Castiel’s thigh, Dean gently tilted his cock with the other until it was almost standing straight up. Pressing a kiss to the head, he swirled his tongue around the tip before taking him down as far as he could. Cas moaned, loudly, and Dean was grateful for the insulation in their floor, ensuring that no one downstairs would hear what was going on. Swiping his tongue back and forth along the underside, he slowly drew back up, then back down. Moaning, Castiel groped blindly at Dean’s head, clearly wanting to grab him or his hair but not knowing if he should. His hips would give an occasional jerk as he instinctively wanted to move, to thrust deeper, at one point making Dean gag and pull away.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Cas said immediately.</p><p>Dean shook his head. “I’m fine, it’s fine.” Crawling up on his hands and knees, he kissed Cas to show there was nothing wrong. “It happens sometimes.”</p><p>“Oh,” he said, more of a relieved sigh than a word.</p><p>“Did you like what I did?”</p><p>“So much,” he said, smiling, reaching up to touch Dean’s face with loving hands. “C-can I touch you?”</p><p>“If you want to. Can’t promise I won’t go off.” He leaned in and whispered in Castiel’s ear, “But that just means you made me feel really, <em>really</em> good.”</p><p>He smiled again, his cheeks pink. “Alright.”</p><p>“Where do you want me?” Dean asked. “Do you want to switch places? Or we could sit side by side?”</p><p>“Can you lie beside me? I… dreamed about touching you while I could kiss you.”</p><p>“Nice dream. Let’s make it real.”</p><p>After first pulling his underwear down his thighs, Dean lay down on his side and Cas helped him to pull them the rest of the way off, giving him all the access he could want. They stayed that way for a minute, totally naked at last, no more barriers between them. Castiel reached for Dean’s face, threading his fingers through his short hair and leaning in to kiss him.</p><p>“This is so much better than a dream,” he said against Dean’s lips.</p><p>His hand traveled down Dean’s arm to his hip where it lingered until Cas could gather enough courage to let it stray down to where Dean most wanted it. He moaned softly into Castiel’s mouth, not wanting to overwhelm him with too much noise all at once, but it felt <em>so</em> good. His touch light and inexperienced, his breath coming fast between kisses, it was probably the most intense encounter of Dean’s life. And possibly Castiel’s, but he didn’t want to assume.</p><p>“Am I—” Cas began, breathlessly, then changed his mind. “What do you—” His brow furrowed and Dean could sense that he was getting frustrated with himself.</p><p>“Just do what you like on yourself,” he suggested.</p><p>Castiel’s grip tightened in a firm squeeze, then lighter as he moved down toward the base, then tighter again as he came back up to the top. Dean pressed his lips together as he moaned.</p><p>“G-good choice,” he stuttered, his voice high and reedy. “Ohhhh, <em>very</em> good choice.”</p><p>Wanting to do more than be a passive player, as they kissed Dean reached down between them and took Cas in hand again, wanting to keep him interested. His rhythm stuttered, breaking their kiss on another gasp.</p><p>“Do you want me to make you come like this?” Dean whispered.</p><p>“W-what do <em>you</em> want, Dean?” Castiel asked, looking him straight in the eyes so Dean could see how serious he was, despite his breathless, halting voice. “You’ve a-asked me what I want this whole time. I w-want to know what you want.”</p><p>It sent a pulse straight down to his cock and Dean bit his lip to avoid coming right then. Cas being bossy in bed? <em>So</em> hot. “Mm,” he moaned, shutting his eyes briefly. “Fuck, Cas… I want—Mmm…” This was so difficult to ask, especially with Castiel’s hand making certain he was distracted. “I want to feel you inside me,” he finally said, his voice a thread of sound.</p><p>Castiel’s cock twitched in his hand. “But I’ve… I’ve never—”</p><p>“We don’t have to, I just… wanted to be honest.”</p><p>“No, I want to,” he assured him. “God, Dean, you have no <em>idea</em> how much, but… what if I hurt you? I could make a mistake.”</p><p>“I have things that will help,” said Dean, slowly sitting up so he wouldn’t get dizzy. Cas followed his example. “And I’ll tell you if there’s a problem or we should stop.” He cradled Castiel’s face in his hands. “Are you sure you want to do this?”</p><p>He turned his head, kissing each of Dean’s palms. “I want everything with you.”</p><p>“Me too. Fuck.”</p><p>“Will you lie on your back? I want to see your face.”</p><p>“Of course. Anything you want.”</p><p>“Just you.”</p><p>Dean kissed him again. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of it. Leaning over to his bedside table, he opened the drawer and removed a few things. First, a condom in its foil wrapper, which he held up and gave to Cas.</p><p>“For easy clean up,” he explained. “And safety. We kinda skipped having the sex talk.”</p><p>“I understand the basic concept,” said Cas, his brow furrowed. “I’m not a virgin, at least with women.”</p><p>“No, that’s—” Dean held up a hand. “Not the time. Later.” They could discuss previous partners and whether or not they’d ever been tested for infections when they weren’t right in the middle of things.</p><p>He gestured to the condom and Cas nodded, beginning the process of opening it and getting it on. Next, Dean set a few tissues on the sidetable to assist with the clean up later, and finally, his personal bottle of preferred lubricant. His heart hammered in his chest at the thought of doing this with Castiel, he was shaking so badly he could hardly get the cap off. When he made to squeeze some out into his palm, Cas stopped him with a hand on the bottle.</p><p>“Can I?” he asked.</p><p>Dean swallowed hard. How was that <em>such</em> a turn-on? “Fuck. Yes.”</p><p>He laid back against the pillows and drew his knees up slightly. Castiel poured a generous amount in his hand, focusing on his first finger. He took a deep, shaky breath before reaching for Dean with his free hand, lacing their fingers together. Dean nodded, then gasped as Cas touched his rim for the first time. He’d played with himself numerous times, but this was new, and it was <em>Cas</em>. He could scarcely remember to breathe.</p><p>Moving slowly, Cas gently worked his index finger in up to the first joint, rotating and easing Dean into the stretch. Dean breathed out, concentrating on releasing the ring of muscle that instinctively wanted to tighten, allowing Cas entry up to his first knuckle.</p><p>“Okay?” asked Cas, concern etched across his features.</p><p>Dean squeezed his hand reassuringly. “S’good,” he whispered. His inner muscles convulsed and suddenly Castiel’s finger slipped all the way in. Arching his head back, Dean uttered a deep moan, open-mouthed and without his previous restraint. “Fuck, Cas!”</p><p>“Dean!”</p><p>“It’s good,” he hurried to assure him. “So fucking good… Ah…” He clenched around Castiel’s finger, biting his lip to avoid coming, but he could feel his cock leaving a tiny pool of moisture on his abdomen. “Please… more…”</p><p>Withdrawing slightly, Cas began to work his second finger alongside the first. Dean moaned again, louder and longer; his free hand fisted in the blanket beneath him. Cas slowly rotated his hand and moved it in and out until he could get both fingers all the way inside.</p><p>Letting go of the blanket, Dean held up his hand. “Now… slowly, as you go in and out, you do this…” He demonstrated a gentle scissoring motion. “Okay?”</p><p>Cas nodded. “Like this?”</p><p>Dean clutched the blanket again, fighting the urge to lift up from the bed. “Yes!” he hissed. “Fuck!”</p><p>“God, Dean…”</p><p>He opened his eyes to look at Cas, his face full of reverence.</p><p>“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said, bringing the hand he was holding to his lips. “Opening up for me, giving me your gorgeous body… I just want to make you feel so good.”</p><p>“Come here…”</p><p>Cas leaned over him and Dean threaded his fingers into his hair, pulling him in for another deep kiss, all while Castiel’s fingers moved in and out, slowly stretching while Dean undulated his body, already coming up to meet his every movement.</p><p>“I want you now,” said Dean, pressing his forehead against Castiel’s.</p><p>“Now?”</p><p>“I’m gonna go crazy if I have to wait any more.”</p><p>“I just don’t want to hurt you.”</p><p>“You’re not gonna hurt me. Please.”</p><p>Reaching over, Dean grabbed one of the tissues he’d set aside earlier and offered it to Cas as he carefully removed his fingers. Wiping them dry, Cas then grabbed the bottle of lube again, pouring a liberal amount over the head of his cock and stroking himself to distribute it all over. His eyes rolled back as he did so and he inhaled shakily. Kneeling closer between Dean’s legs, he dribbled a bit more lube around Dean’s rim, teasing it with the head of his cock as he began to press it inside.</p><p>“Easy,” said Dean. It was bigger and much more blunt than his fingers.</p><p>Cas slowed down, moving himself side to side and up and down with his hand. Dean exhaled slowly, consciously thinking about relaxing his muscles. As he did so, the head slipped past the ring and Dean grabbed Castiel’s arm as he groaned, the sound an odd harmony with the moan that Cas uttered. Now that the biggest part of him was past that initial barrier, it was easy to slowly sink the rest of the way in. Cas fell down to his elbows, covering Dean’s body with his own, shaking as he held him close and pressed his face against Dean’s neck.</p><p>“Dean,” he moaned. “God, Dean! I’m—I’m inside you.”</p><p>“Yes…” He could feel Castiel’s cock twitching deep inside him, a feeling so erotic that it almost made him orgasm right then. “It’s so good, Cas, so fucking good…”</p><p>When he lifted his head, Castiel’s eyes were full of tears for the second time that day. Dean reached up to touch his face.</p><p>“Are you okay?” He hoped they didn’t need to stop, even though he would if Cas needed to.</p><p>“Dean, it… it doesn’t feel wrong,” he said, his voice breaking. He almost sounded surprised, even now, this far into it.</p><p>“It’s not wrong,” said Dean. “Love can’t be wrong.”</p><p>“I love you so much.”</p><p>“Show me.”</p><p>Cas attempted a gentle thrust, making them both cry out. On the next, Dean lifted up to meet him and Castiel’s cock brushed his prostate, making him clench. Rivulets of sensation chased each other up and down Dean’s spine on every slow, measured thrust. Their rhythm wasn’t perfect, but they could work on that later. There was just nothing like the feeling of being taken, of being totally and utterly open and vulnerable in the basest of ways. That perfect feeling of just <em>belonging</em> that he hoped Cas could feel as well. In that moment, as if it wasn’t gone already, Dean’s heart gave itself completely over to Cas. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there could be no one else.</p><p>Gritting his teeth, Cas gripped the base of his cock tightly with two fingers. “I… don’t think I’m gonna last,” he admitted. “You feel so good.”</p><p>“Me neither,” said Dean. “But that’s okay. We can do this again. And again. And again.” There were so many things he wanted to share with Cas and they had their whole lives to try them out. Reaching up, he pulled Cas down for a kiss, at the same time, he wrapped his legs over Castiel’s hips and locked them at the small of his back. “Fuck me hard and make me come.”</p><p>He didn’t need any further convincing. Bracing himself on his arms, Cas began to move, faster and faster, driving himself into Dean with abandon. With the lubricant ensuring an easy slip-slide, Dean felt only pleasure as they each chased their orgasm. Reaching between them, Dean stroked himself, needing very little before he could feel that pressure start to rise.</p><p>“Gonna come,” he bit out, eyes shut tight against the sensation.</p><p>“Look at me,” said Cas.</p><p>When he did, that was all it took. The sight of Castiel above him, driving himself into Dean’s ass over and over, tipped him over the edge and he came, calling Castiel’s name as he spilled himself over his hand and stomach. Cas fell immediately after, his spine going rigid as he held Dean’s hips in a tight grip, coming again and again, as deep inside as he could go. The feeling of his cock twitching inside of him was so good, Dean clenched one last time, moaning breathlessly.</p><p>As Dean’s legs fell limp to the bed, Cas collapsed on top of him, but Dean didn’t mind, he could bear the weight without any trouble. As his cock began to soften and slip free, Dean knew they would have to clean up soon, but he just wanted to stay like that for a few more minutes. They were still trying to catch their collective breath. His arms felt like lead, but he wrapped them around Cas all the same, lazily kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, anywhere he could reach until Cas could lift his head for a proper kiss.</p><p>“I love you, Cas,” Dean whispered against his lips. “I want you, I want this. I want us. What do you want?”</p><p>Castiel lifted his head to look Dean in the eyes. This close, Dean could see himself reflected in the blue mirror. “Forever,” he said. “I want forever.”</p><p>“That’s a long time.”</p><p>“Not long enough. I love you, Dean.”</p><p>He would never, could never, get tired of hearing that. “I love you, too,” he said, tilting his head up for another kiss.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Castiel confronts Chuck with Dean at his side.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There is a little bit of NSFW stuff at the beginning when they're in the shower.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean woke up with hair in his mouth, in a tangle of naked limbs, a little bit sweaty, but utterly happy. Cas was snuggled up against his chest, his nose against Dean’s collarbone, and it was his hair in Dean’s mouth, but he didn’t care. He’d wake up like that every day and thank him for it. Their arms were wrapped around each other so tightly, their legs sweetly entwined, it was hard to pinpoint where one of them stopped and the other began. And it was perfect. Sheer perfection. Dean had never felt so warm and safe. Home had never felt more <em>home</em> than this, even though the air was still thick with sex and bread and cookies – the scent of a filthy bakery but filthy in all the best ways.</p><p>Squinting at the clock, he rubbed Castiel’s back, encouraging him toward wakefulness. He inhaled deeply and rubbed his face against Dean’s chest like a happy kitten, the scratch of his five o’clock shadow sensual rather than abrasive.</p><p>“Wakey, wakey,” said Dean, hoarsely.</p><p>“Mm-mm,” Cas mumbled in the negative, holding him tighter.</p><p>“Don’t you think we should shower before the shop closes and Sam comes upstairs?”</p><p>“Wanna stay here.”</p><p>“Well, okay, but I’d rather have you in the shower with me.”</p><p>That got him to lift his head and blink sleepily at Dean. Reaching up, he touched his face. “You’re still here,” he said, running his thumb across Dean’s cheek. “It wasn’t a dream.”</p><p>“Dreams don’t generally leave me this sore,” he joked, but Cas was instantly concerned.</p><p>“I hurt you?”</p><p>“No, I’m fine,” said Dean, quickly. “Some soreness is expected. Besides, I kind of like it.” He smiled and gave his rump a little wiggle. “It’s like a reminder of what we did. It’s sexy.” Rubbing Castiel’s back again, he asked, “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Leaning up, Cas kissed him in answer. “No regrets.”</p><p>“None?”</p><p>“Still some anxiety deep down,” he said, honestly. “But that’s because of what I have to face later. Being with you…” He exhaled and shook his head. “I can’t even describe it. It was more—it was <em>better</em>—than anything I’d ever imagined. It just… meant so much to me. And I want more. But only if it’s with you.”</p><p>“Me too,” said Dean, ducking his head to nuzzle Castiel’s nose with his own. “And anything you have to face because of this, because of us—I want to be there, too. Right by your side.”</p><p>“You don’t have to do that.”</p><p>“The hell I don’t. You’re stuck with me, pal.”</p><p>Cas smiled. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”</p><p>“You say that now. Wait ‘til you’re working for me. Sam’ll tell you, I’m a taskmaster.”</p><p>“I might enjoy that.”</p><p>Now, <em>that</em> was intriguing. “I thought you didn’t want me to tell you what to do.”</p><p>“Well, if you’re instructing me, then it’s natural for you to take the lead, whether it’s in pie-making or in bed, like today.”</p><p>“Okay,” said Dean, lifting a brow. “But you’re implying something a bit more intense than what we did today.”</p><p>“Can I ask to stop at any time?” Cas asked.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“And you’ll stop right away, no matter what?”</p><p>“Immediately.”</p><p>Cas smiled. “Then I still hold all the power, no matter what you’re telling me to do. That’s the difference.”</p><p>“You trust me that much?”</p><p>“Want me to show you?”</p><p>Dean bit his lip. “Don’t tease me like that, I’m not as young as I used to be. I’m gonna need a little longer before I’m ready for another round.”</p><p>Chuckling, Cas reluctantly began to get up from under the covers. “Then I guess we might as well get in the shower.”</p><p>“Hang on.” Dean propped himself up on an elbow and reached for Cas, pulling him down by the neck for a kiss. “Okay, <em>now</em> we can shower.”</p><p>Despite his protests about needing a longer refraction period, Dean couldn’t help getting at least a little interested once they were in the small shower area with warm water pouring down their bodies. The slide of slick skin-on-skin had him at half-mast with almost no effort from Cas at all. Then he just looked into his gorgeous half-lidded eyes and Dean was pressing Cas up against the tile wall, one leg going between Castiel’s knees as he kissed him.</p><p>“Look what you do to me, man,” he murmured, rutting against his hip. “It’s like I’m a fucking teenager with you. I’m going to be so damn dehydrated…”</p><p>Cas laughed. “We’ll take water breaks.”</p><p>The nice thing about lazy handjobs in the shower, besides the obvious, was the easy cleanup afterward. Dean and Cas took turns soaping each other down with a washcloth, finding sensitive areas and ticklish spots to be explored more thoroughly later.</p><p>Once they emerged from the bathroom, Cas experienced some conflict about whether he should put his underwear back on, which he didn’t want to do, or go without until he could get home to his apartment, which would be uncomfortable, or borrow a pair of Dean’s. “It strikes me as… rather intimate,” he said, then wrinkled his nose. “Well, we’ve <em>been</em> very intimate, but…”</p><p>“I get it,” said Dean. “It’s another step further in the relationship.”</p><p>He appeared relieved that Dean understood. “Yes.”</p><p>Opening his top drawer, Dean offered him a clean pair. “I’m comfortable with it, if you are.”</p><p>A little sheepishly, Castiel took them. “Thank you.”</p><p>Dean kissed his cheek. “Anything you need, Cas.” He sat down on the end of his bed to get re-dressed. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this… but there are a few things I think we should talk about.”</p><p>Sitting down beside him, Castiel also began to get dressed, pulling on his socks and picking up his trousers from the pile. “That sounds serious.”</p><p>“It could be. First, I thought about what we should do tonight. This relationship is very new. I should take you back to your car and let you go back to your apartment. Then I’d come back here and do prep with Sam and let him pester me for details. But now that I have you in my life… I don’t really want to let you go. I want to fall asleep and have you with me, like earlier.” His brows drew together slightly. “I hope that’s not creepy.”</p><p>“I really liked that, too,” said Cas, nudging Dean’s shoulder with his own. “But maybe we should ease into living together. For Sam’s sake, if not ours.”</p><p>“Fair point. We can all talk about it later. Besides,” he added with some self-deprecation, “I should give you some time to decide if you really want forever with me.”</p><p>“Dean.”</p><p>He looked up and Cas cradled his face in his hands.</p><p>“I’m sure.”</p><p>Just two little words, but they held such weight. “Yeah?” he said, his cheeks flushed pink.</p><p>“Yes.” He kissed Dean softly. “You’re stuck with me, too.”</p><p>“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he teased.</p><p>“What else?” Cas prompted as he pulled his wrinkled shirt off the floor.</p><p>“Alright. Second, when we were waking up I kind of implied that I’d like you to also work here. Did you want a job? Or would that be a bad idea, to work together?”</p><p>“If this past week is any indication, I think I’d enjoy working here. I’m certainly going to need a job after tomorrow.”</p><p>“Okay, and third… I offered to come with you for that. Do you want me to or will I make things worse?”</p><p>Cas paused in the act of buttoning his shirt. “It won’t be pretty,” he warned. “But I’d appreciate your support. If you’re there, I won’t be so afraid.”</p><p>Dean took Castiel’s hand in his and pressed his lips against the back. “Then I’ll be there. I won’t leave your side, no matter how ugly it gets. And I promise I’ll keep my big mouth shut unless you ask me to step in.”</p><p>“Thank you.” He squeezed Dean’s hand. “As for right now… I’d like to help you with prep, so I can start learning your work habits. Then you can take me back to my car.”</p><p>“Okay, let’s do it.”</p><p>Cas left his blazer and tie off, rolling up his sleeves as they made their way downstairs. Sam was just flipping the sign to ‘closed’ as they came in through the backdoor. His brows lifted high on his forehead as he took in the sight of them together, both of their heads still damp from the shower, clothing all wrinkled, and Dean smiling like an idiot.</p><p>“Hello, Sam,” said Castiel as he passed him on the way into the kitchen, calm as anything.</p><p>“Hi, C-Cas,” Sam stuttered, watching him go by. Once he was out of sight, Sam began jumping up and down, hitting Dean in the arm over and over. ‘Oh my God!’ he mouthed silently but excitedly.</p><p>Dean half-heartedly blocked his blows. “Shut up, man!” he whispered.</p><p>“You totally did it!” Sam whispered back.</p><p>“Get used to him being here,” he said. “This is happening. It’s real.”</p><p>“Just keep the PDA to a minimum in front of me,” Sam begged.</p><p>“No promises.”</p><p>He hit Dean a couple more times enthusiastically before heading into the kitchen and patting Castiel on the shoulder. “Welcome back,” he said, smiling and grabbing an apron off the wall. “Looks like we’ll be needing a new one of these.”</p><p>Cas returned his smile, clearly delighted by Sam’s easy acceptance, he ducked his head to hide it. Dean came over and grabbed his arm, pulling him closer to whisper,</p><p>“I just want you to know, I’m trying my hardest to not kiss you right now, because he <em>just</em> asked me to keep it to a minimum in his presence. But you are really adorable and I love you and these are the sacrifices I make.”</p><p>“Well, he didn’t ask <em>me</em>,” said Cas, threading his fingers into Dean’s hair and pulling him in for a quick kiss.</p><p>Sam sighed in resignation. “Assbutts, the both of you!” he said, pointing with a wooden spoon.</p><p>---</p><p>Castiel’s eyes were cast across the street from where he and Dean were standing, watching as the lights inside the bakery began to turn on. It was very early in the morning and Dean held Castiel’s hand tightly, watching as his throat moved around a hard swallow. He didn’t ask if Cas was ready, he didn’t say a word, he just stood there with all the patience Cas required until he could find it in himself to step off that curb. Into the abyss.</p><p>He looked at Dean, his eyes anxious, his jaw set. “I’m doing this.”</p><p>Dean nodded and didn’t ask if he was sure. He trusted Cas to do what he believed was best for himself. And Dean would be with him every step of the way.</p><p>Together, they headed across the empty street.</p><p>A little bell jingled as they went through the door into Your Daily Bread. “I’m sorry, we’re not open yet—” Chuck stopped as he looked up from the notebook he was writing in. “Castiel!” he exclaimed, tossing it aside.</p><p>All movement in the bakery came to a dead stop as everyone looked up at Cas. A few of his siblings even gathered around the doorway leading to the back, watching with unrestrained curiosity and some shock.</p><p>“Where have you been?” Chuck demanded. He looked between Castiel and Dean and particularly at their joined hands. “What is this?”</p><p>“Father,” said Castiel, his voice steady and clear, “I quit.”</p><p>“Quit?” he repeated. “What are you talking about, ‘quit?’ You can’t quit!”</p><p>“Yes, I can. And I am. I’m tired of living the way I’ve been taught I should. I want to live my own life. I will always love my family, but I choose happiness.” He looked to his side and smiled. “And for me, that’s Dean. He’s the man I love.”</p><p>Chuck and Castiel’s siblings all goggled at him like he’d just grown three heads. “You can’t be serious,” said Chuck. “What will the church say?”</p><p>“They can say whatever they want,” said Cas. “I don’t care.”</p><p>“Then I guess you don’t care what they say about us, either,” said Chuck. “Or how our business could suffer as a result.”</p><p>“That isn’t my problem,” said Cas. “If the bakery suffers, it’s up to you to react and adapt.”</p><p>“I see the disrespect of this… person… has worn off on you,” said Chuck, eyeing Dean.</p><p>“He has a <em>name</em>,” said Castiel, glaring. “It’s Dean Winchester. And you don’t know anything about him!”</p><p>It was the closest to angry Dean had ever seen from Cas. And it was kind of hot.</p><p>“He’s the kindest, most generous, most loving human being I’ve ever met,” Cas went on. “Everything he does is out of love. Knowing him has changed me in the best of ways. Because of him, I finally know who I am. And I am so lucky to love and be loved by him.”</p><p>“This isn’t love,” said Chuck. “You want to rebel, so you’re choosing something that will hurt your family the most.”</p><p>Cas shook his head. “No. This has nothing to do with you. It never did.”</p><p>“I can’t believe this,” Chuck exclaimed. “After everything I’ve done for you!”</p><p>“What you’ve done?” Cas repeated, incredulous. “You taught me that I should <em>hate</em> myself for the way I feel. Dean helped me to see that pretending to be something I’m not was never going to turn me into a version of myself that you could love. This is who I am going to be for the rest of my life. I could loathe it and be miserable, or I could accept myself for who I am. I choose acceptance.”</p><p>Chuck exhaled sharply. “Castiel,” he said, tensely, obviously fighting to remain calm, “I’ve been extremely tolerant of you going off and doing your own thing in your spare time.”</p><p>Dean repressed a derisive snort at Chuck’s definition of ‘tolerance.’</p><p>“I know you’ve visited Gabriel in the past and are still doing so,” Chuck continued. “This is probably the result of his influence. But there is no way I could ever approve of this… this infatuation! It’s sick!”</p><p>“You’re in no position to judge, you don’t know anything about our relationship,” said Cas. “I’m sorry you can’t accept who I am, but I don’t require your approval. I only came here to say the things I should have said long ago and let you know I won’t be back.” He looked around, encompassing all of his siblings in his glance. “And also, that my door is always open to those I love.”</p><p>“Don’t you bring them into this,” said Chuck.</p><p>“I’ll never stop loving them,” said Castiel, persistently. “First John, four-seven. No matter what you might say, <em>that</em> is the truth. The one valuable lesson out of all this that you managed to teach me.”</p><p>“You can’t just pick and choose scripture to suit your agenda—”</p><p>“Why not?” Castiel challenged him. “You do it all the time!” He gestured over at their boxes and wax paper and plastic bags, all stamped with various verses.</p><p>“Fine, then,” Chuck spat. “Leave! I don’t want you here. You’re worthless to me!”</p><p>Castiel inhaled sharply at that final barb. It hit the mark for sure. Dean squeezed his hand and saw Castiel’s shoulders relax again as he briefly closed his eyes to regain his calm.</p><p>“Perhaps,” Cas allowed, inclining his chin slightly. “But I’m a good brother. And I don’t have to stay here for that to be true.” He looked at his siblings. “You can find family, your real family, in the most unlikely of places. People who will pick you up if you fall and help you to keep going. Most of all, know that you <em>are</em> deserving of love, not just from others, but from <em>yourselves</em>.” He paused. “I just… wanted you to know that before I left.”</p><p>Tugging on his hand, Cas led Dean out the way they came. Though he’d kept his promise to remain silent, Dean couldn’t help putting his free hand behind his back in order to flip the bird at Chuck as they left. Once outside, they each took a deep breath. Above them, the morning sky was slowly clearing of clouds, letting the sun shine through. It promised to be a beautiful Fall day.</p><p>They didn’t speak until they were once again inside the Impala. Dean held open his arms and Cas went to him immediately, slipping his hands around Dean’s waist under his jacket and hiding his face against his neck.</p><p>“You were amazing, Cas,” he said, quietly.</p><p>“That might have been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” he said, his voice a little muffled.</p><p>“I know. I’m so proud of you. People like that can’t be reasoned with, they only care about furthering their own agenda, no matter who they step on. But you still went in there and said everything you wanted to. Hence - amazing.” He paused. “What was the verse you mentioned? John the first?”</p><p>“First John, four-seven,” Castiel corrected. “It’s my favorite. ‘Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God. And everyone that loveth is born of God and knoweth God.’ It’s the one thing I knew Chuck could never contradict.”</p><p>It was the first time Dean had heard him refer to Chuck by his name rather than as his father. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“I will be. Just… hold me for a minute.”</p><p>“As long as you want.”</p><p>He rested his cheek on top of Castiel’s head. If he hadn’t already guessed, Chuck’s response to Castiel’s decision would have told him everything he needed to know about their relationship. His utter lack of support revealed that Chuck’s ‘love’ was entirely contingent on Cas behaving a certain way, to uphold a certain standard. He hoped Castiel’s brothers and sisters could see that too. That they shouldn’t ignore or repress the way they really felt, that they didn’t have to, they could choose to live the way they wanted. They just had to take the same leap.</p><p>Dean heard Castiel sniffle. “Hey,” he said, softly, “are you crying?”</p><p>“Not for him,” said Cas, his voice a bit watery. “He doesn’t deserve it. I’m crying for them. For all children like us. Taught from a very early age that hate and prejudice are not just alright, but encouraged. Hate for anyone different, including yourself. It’s so wrong.”</p><p>“It is,” Dean agreed. “Your family should never make you feel unwanted, they should never abandon you just because you think differently. Your family should love <em>all</em> of you – not just the parts they deem ‘acceptable.’”</p><p>Cas lifted his head, smiling even through his tears. His eyes were bright from crying, vividly blue, like sapphires. “I love all of <em>you</em>, Dean,” he said, emphatically. “You have such strength and you freely give it to everyone who needs it. You are so full of love and kindness.”</p><p>“I’m also a coward who lied to you,” Dean reminded him. “I’m grateful you were willing to forgive me for that.”</p><p>“How could I not?” Cas asked. “You see me for exactly who I am and that’s all you want me to be.”</p><p>He smiled. “Thank you for seeing me for who I am and loving me anyway.”</p><p>Tilting his head up, Castiel kissed him, long and slow, reaching with one hand to card his fingers through the short hair near Dean’s neck. He hummed his appreciation into Castiel’s mouth.</p><p>“Let’s go home,” he said when they parted.</p><p>Castiel’s eyes searched his. “Home?”</p><p>“Well…” Dean tilted his head. “Soon enough.”</p><p>Smiling, Cas nodded. “Wherever you are – that’s my home.”</p><p>---</p><p>“Wow,” said Sam after hearing what happened. “That’s… a lot.”</p><p>“You should have seen him, Sam,” said Dean as he pulled chairs off tables in The Piehole’s eating area. “Cas looked them all right in the eye and didn’t waver even once. It was incredible.”</p><p>“I’m sure it was,” said Sam, turning the key for the register. “And I’m happy for you both.”</p><p>“You’re just excited we finally have someone else to help us around here,” said Dean, going to the front door to turn the sign to ‘open.’</p><p>“Can you blame me?”</p><p>“I guess not.”</p><p>As soon as he flipped the sign, the door flew open, making Dean jump back as someone ran in carrying a huge duffel bag. A boy, a young man with floppy blond hair coming down over one eye, looked between them both, settling on Dean.</p><p>“Is Castiel here?” he asked, breathlessly, like he’d run a long way.</p><p>Cas came out of the kitchen at once, wearing a Piehole apron over his clothes. “Jack?” he said, clearly in shock.</p><p>“Castiel!” He dropped his bag and practically flew over the counter, throwing himself into Castiel’s arms.</p><p>“I’m guessing this is one of your brothers?” asked Sam.</p><p>“Sort of,” said Cas, returning the fierce hug somewhat awkwardly. “I’m technically his uncle. He’s Luce’s kid, but Chuck adopted him after proving him an unfit father.” Putting his hands on Jack’s shoulders, he held him away, tucking his chin to look him in the eye. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“You said your door’s always open,” said Jack.</p><p>Cas sucked in a breath. “You left?”</p><p>Jack smiled brightly. “Yep! Balthazar left pretty much immediately after you did. Threw down a broom, saying ‘finally, someone said it,’ and walked right out. Then Uriel apologized and followed him. Ion, Anael, even Michael… We quit!”</p><p>“You’re kidding!” said Dean. He could hardly believe that Castiel’s exit would have such a profound effect right away. Apparently, he’d opened the floodgates.</p><p>“I’m eighteen now, so he couldn’t stop me,” said Jack, scuffing his shoe a bit sheepishly. “But I… didn’t know where else I could go. I looked up ‘Winchester’ in the phone book and it led me here.”</p><p>Cas looked up. “Dean? Sam?” he asked.</p><p>They glanced at each other, but knew their answer without saying a word.</p><p>“Welcome to Team Free Will, kid,” said Dean.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There's about to be a big change at The Piehole...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Four Weeks Later…</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Little higher… No, that’s too high… Right between there… Come on, Sam, do you have a depth perception problem?”</p>
<p>“Okay, it’s close enough!” said Sam, coming down the ladder. “Cas and Jack are going to be back from the Farmer’s Market any minute, enough fucking with the sign!”</p>
<p>“Hang on, hang on,” said Dean, grabbing a red curtain and handing it up. “Put this over it. I don’t want him to see it yet.”</p>
<p>Sam sighed but took the curtain and went back up the ladder, draping it over the sign and letting the ends hang down within reach. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”</p>
<p><em>“You</em> can’t believe it? I had a <em>sign</em> made! I’m changing the <em>menu!”</em></p>
<p>“I know, I kinda thought the Earth would open up and swallow us.” He came back down the ladder and folded it. “At least I don’t have to keep all the stuff in my room anymore. Flyers are one thing, that huge sign took up a lot of space!”</p>
<p>“It was the only place he wouldn’t see—Oh, I forgot the lights!”</p>
<p>Dean ran inside The Piehole and flipped the switches. Along with the regular lights, a big Christmas tree near the door began a rainbow-colored light show, and outside an additional sign lit up beneath the new one – Grand Re-Opening.</p>
<p>Sam shook his head. “You know I don’t approve of decorations before Thanksgiving,” he said, indicating the tree.</p>
<p>“It’s festive, man,” said Dean. “Like a celebration.”</p>
<p>“Did you buy the confetti for the parade?”</p>
<p>“Shut up. Where’s the box?”</p>
<p>He held up a hand. “I’ll go get it, I gotta put the ladder away anyway.” Hefting it up, Sam carefully went inside.</p>
<p>Putting his hands on his hips, Dean looked up at the covered sign and gave a little sigh. They were really doing this. He checked the time on his phone and sent Jack a text that he should try and stall. Their guests should have been here by—</p>
<p>“A little late, but worth the wait!” said Gabriel, coming around the corner with a huge bouquet of red roses. A small group of people followed behind and Gabe gestured to each of them by way of introduction. “Dean, this is Balthazar, Ion, Anael, and Uriel. Michael couldn’t get away from work, he’s on twenty-four-hour duty at the firehouse, but he sends his regards.”</p>
<p>Dean smiled at all of them and nodded his acknowledgment. “Give him my ‘regards’ as well,” he said, reminded of his earliest messages between himself and Castiel. “Thank you for coming. I know it’ll mean everything to Cas that you’re here.” He took the flowers from Gabriel and began unwrapping the paper. “Now, here’s what I’d like to happen…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>A Few Minutes Later…</em>
</p>
<p>“I don’t know why you were so indecisive over the mangos,” Castiel was saying to Jack as they came up the sidewalk, carrying bags of produce. “They all felt ripe to me.”</p>
<p>“I just wanted to make sure we got the right ones,” Jack said, innocently. It was so easy to believe anything he said with those big eyes.</p>
<p>“Dean!” Cas exclaimed happily, seeing him standing outside The Piehole’s front door. Dean loved how Castiel always smiled whenever he saw him. “What are you doing out here?” he asked. His brows drew together slightly as he noticed the re-opening sign. “What’s this?”</p>
<p>“Just a second,” said Dean. “Jack, will you take the groceries into the kitchen, please?”</p>
<p>Grinning, Jack took the bags Cas was holding and hurried inside. Dean stepped forward and took both of Castiel’s hands in his.</p>
<p>“This is for you,” he said. “A surprise. Today, I am officially re-opening The Piehole, with one very big important change.” He took a deep breath. “I have a proposal for you – a business proposal,” he clarified when Castiel’s eyes widened.</p>
<p>Keeping one of Castiel’s hands in his, he reached out with the other and pulled on the curtain, revealing their brand-new sign which read –</p>
<p>The Piehole</p>
<p>Featuring</p>
<p>Angel Cakes</p>
<p>Castiel’s mouth dropped open. “What?”</p>
<p>“We’re not just a pie place anymore,” said Dean, smiling. “Now you can do what you love – make cakes. As many as you like.” He pulled Cas into the empty shop and gestured up at the blackboard, one-third of which was completely wiped blank. “Any kind you want. And if that’s not enough room, we’ll put up another board. Here…”</p>
<p>He grabbed a pie box off the counter and handed it to Castiel. When he opened it, inside was a blue apron embroidered with ‘Angel Cakes’ and above that – ‘Cas.’</p>
<p>“You did all this, for me?” Castiel asked, setting the box back down.</p>
<p>He nodded. “Now that Jack has a handle on pies, you won’t have to supervise him as much, so you’ll have plenty of time to devote to this.”</p>
<p>“But Dean,” Cas said, softly, reaching out to cradle Dean’s face in his hands. “Cake? Here?”</p>
<p>“I <em>know</em>,” he said, exaggerating his tone and making his eyes big. “But love makes you do strange things.” He wrapped his arms around Castiel’s waist. “So, what do you think? Will you go into business with me?”</p>
<p>His eyes glazed with tears, Cas smiled. “Of course.”</p>
<p>Sam emerged from the kitchen with a jubilant whoop which startled Castiel, but he was able to laugh it off a second later. He was followed immediately by Gabe, Jack, and his other brothers and sister, each of them carrying a small bundle of roses. With a hand on his back, Dean gave Cas a little push forward so he could accept the flowers, gradually gathering up the whole bouquet. They applauded for him, all wishing their congratulations, and Castiel couldn’t stop smiling.</p>
<p>Turning, he opened his mouth to say something to Dean… and froze in shock. While Cas had been distracted, Dean had knelt on the floor behind him and pulled out a little black box.</p>
<p>“So… I have another question for you,” he said, a little teasingly.</p>
<p>“Dean…” Castiel’s eyes were huge as he looked from the box to Dean’s face.</p>
<p>“I know it hasn’t been a very long time since we met,” he went on. “But I’d like to make this partnership a bit more permanent. And I always thought, when you know, then you know. And I know that I love you more than anything in this world.”</p>
<p>“Even more than pie,” Sam added from his place in the small crowd, making everyone laugh.</p>
<p>“Thanks, peanut gallery,” said Dean.</p>
<p>“You invited us, Dean!” Gabriel reminded him.</p>
<p>“Starting to regret that a little bit.” He turned his attention back to Cas. “I hope you’re not mad at me for one last little lie… This isn’t just a business proposal. It’s a real proposal.” He opened the box to reveal a white-gold ring comprised of six carved angel wings in a circle. “What do you say, Cas? Will you marry me?”</p>
<p>In a beautiful cascade, the roses all fell to the floor around them as Castiel skidded to his knees to embrace Dean. “Yes!” he exclaimed.</p>
<p>Their audience burst into another round of applause while Dean and Cas shared a tearful kiss. Gabriel sighed and put his head on Sam’s arm, just below his shoulder.</p>
<p>“I love happy endings,” he said.</p>
<p>“You mean a happy beginning,” said Sam.</p>
<p>Gabe looked up, way up, at the younger Winchester. “For them? Or… are you finally going to let me take you out to dinner?”</p>
<p>Sam’s face went beet red and he pulled at the collar of his shirt, choosing not to respond. But Gabriel was patient. He could wait.</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to everyone who left me comments and kudos. As someone who was raised in a very religious home and found out I was bisexual much later in life, it was kind of cathartic for me to write this. I know that not every religious home is as prejudiced as the one depicted in this story, but I know of so many that are. I just think it's so much better to choose kindness and acceptance over hate. </p>
<p>Hugs to you all! Thank you again! ~Licie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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